Child of the Dark Moon

by Sw-0608

Fleeing from Dudley and the 'Harry-hunters' under a full moon, Harry Potter saves his hated cousin from a giant wolf and is nearly killed. Severus Snape comes upon the bloody body not ten minutes later and takes the child into his home, against his better judgment. Can Snape come to terms with the vulnerable boy and help him to adapt to being a werewolf? (Manipulative Dumbledore)

7. Chapter 7: Confrontations

Rated T

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)

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Chapter 7: Confrontations

Snape sighed as he watched the child fall asleep. Propped up on the pillows as he was, Harry's head was listing to the side. Severus muttered a spell and flicked his wand, and the boy rose up slightly before the pillows rearranged themselves, and then he came back down just as gently, lying down this time. The boy mumbled something incoherent and snuggled down more securely under the quilt.

"What am I going to do with you, child?" the Professor muttered aloud. He sighed and sat down in his bedside chair, gazing at the sleeping boy. He suddenly felt irrationally glad that the boy's face had been spared from the Werewolf's claws. In repose, Severus was reminded of Lily at that age. Her face had been almost elfin, delicate and sensitive. There was no doubt that the boy would be handsome one day, but right now, he looked almost feminine. He had inherited Lily's fine bone structure and the shape of her face. He had not realized until this moment how terrified he had been to raise a boy who would grow up looking like a clone of his father. James Potter had not given him any fond memories with that face of his. If Harry looked more like his mother than his father, Severus thanked fate for small mercies. It would be easier on both of them if the boy went on looking more like the Evans side of his family.

"Fell asleep, did he?" Minerva's voice came from the doorway. Severus stirred himself and glanced over at the tall woman entering the bedroom. She was carrying a tray with three bowls of soup, some bread, and a tea set. Steam rose tantalizingly from the bowls and the teapot, and Snape suddenly realized that he hadn't really eaten much today. He nodded gratefully at her and got up to make the room a bit more accommodating to their small repast. He took a picture frame from his bureau and with a flick of his wand transfigured it into a little table. Minerva gave him an approving smile as she set the tray down, and Severus felt strangely pleased at her approval. She was a Transfiguration genius almost in the mold of himself, with Potions.

"I'm afraid this evening was a bit much for him," Snape replied quietly. He pulled up his chair and transfigured his extra blanket into another chair for his guest. She preferred straight-backed, padded armchairs, and he made her one almost exactly like the one she favored in her office.

"Why thank you, Severus," she chuckled as she sat down. "But you mustn't exhaust yourself, dear boy. You've a child to care for now."

"I don't know how I'm going to do it," Snape admitted, serving himself some tea and stirring in the sugar.

"I'm sure you'll manage," the older Professor responded reassuringly.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Severus muttered sarcastically. He blew on a spoonful of soup and swallowed it. He had forgotten how good the elf-made barley soup of Hogwarts actually was.

"So; about Albus," Minerva McGonegall gave her much younger colleague a look over the tops of her spectacles. He hated it when she did that. It made him want to squirm like an errant schoolboy again.

"I'll tell him sometime tomorrow, alright?" he snapped, though not too loudly for fear of waking Harry. He set a stasis charm over the boy's bowl and piece of bread to keep them fresh, perhaps a trifle aggressively.

Minerva suddenly laid her wrinkled hand over his smooth one. He looked up at her and was surprised to see that her normally stern face was gentle and understanding.

"I'll be with you," she said quietly. "I won't let that man do anything that would hurt Harry. You know that. We'll figure out what's best for the lad, and it will all work out, Severus. Stop fretting yourself into a fever."

"I'm not fretting," Professor Snape objected sharply. He pulled his hand away from the older woman and spread butter on his bread. "I am simply furious with that … that old meddler! If it isn't enough he manipulates me and uses my promises and emotions as means to control me, he turns his games on an innocent orphaned child! You and I both warned him about Petunia, but he refused to listen to either of us."

"Severus, you're reading too much into this," Minerva sighed. She sipped her tea, with only a splash of milk and no sugar, as was her wont. "I think I can say with full confidence that Albus had no more idea what was going on than you or I did. Harry is safe now, thanks to you, and we will find a better home for him very quickly. Albus Dumbledore will work with us instead of alone this time, and I can assure you that I at least will be checking up on him frequently."

Severus sat in uneasy silence as the woman went on. He closed his eyes briefly, lost in a painful memory, or several memories. "He should have been mine," he whispered suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?" Minerva McGonegall sounded shocked.

He opened his eyes and stared resolutely into the woman's light green eyes. "I could keep Harry, you know. At least until he's well enough and stable enough to be placed in a suitable family. Few houses on this earth are as well protected as mine. And … Albus did say I owed Lily," he added in a snide tone. He spread his hands on his knees to hide his trembling.

"Severus … I …" the woman opened and closed her mouth, seemingly at a loss. "I …" she tried again. She delicately put her cup down and folded her hands, going for the sympathetic but stern Professor. "Well, first off … it is … touching, that you would willingly take care of Harry after all the bad blood between you and Potter senior … But, really Severus, what can you possibly be thinking? You are terrible enough with school age children, how can you expect to raise a traumatized boy all by yourself?"

"How hard can it be?" Snape shrugged, beginning to feel irritated. He knew she was right, but did she have to be so condescending about it?

"Severus," Minerva sighed. "Harry is going to need attention, love, and understanding if he is to heal from this … the abuse from his relatives, the werewolf infection …I simply don't think you've thought it through at all."

"Right, I get it," Severus ground out between his teeth, his temper flaring suddenly. "It was a stupid and foolish thought, impulsive enough for a Gryffindor. I'd be a terrible guardian for the boy-who-lived. Who knew what sort of dark curses I might end up teaching the brat? Why did I even consider such an asinine idea?!"

He lunged to his feet and stormed out of the room, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He knew that everything both he and Minerva had said was true, but it hurt all the same. He could not deny the strange urge that pulled at his soul to protect the helpless child. It was made all the worse, knowing that the boy would be doomed to a lifetime of prejudice and hatred on account of being a shook his head bitterly, knowing it would be even worse than that, since the boy-who-lived was already famous. Former Death Eaters and especially Werewolves who had sided with the Dark Lord during the war would target the boy and prey on his insecurities and … medical condition, to drive him into darkness. Who better indeed to help the boy than Severus Snape? Not many men had rejected the allure of the darkness as he had, but Minerva was right. He had a short temper, he was very particular, and he really disliked children. Even when he was a boy he had not associated with many children his own age, finding them immature and stupid. He couldn't understand what he was doing teaching dunderheads how to brew potions without killing themselves (or each other) if he hated it so much. It was hectic and stressful and he routinely made cruel remarks, took points and assigned detentions unfairly, and generally made himself the most hated teacher in Hogwarts. What would it be like to have an active young boy in his home, all day, every day and night, for the next eight years or so? He shook his head, reflecting angrily that he would likely end up turning into his father and give the boy even more trauma and hurt to deal with. Or he might just go completely barmy before the boy was seventeen and end up in St. Mungo's, leaving Harry alone again.

He couldn't understand what he had been thinking. The child really deserved someone better than a broken ex-Death Eater with a nasty temper to raise him. It really was for the best, Severus told himself. He tried to ignore the fact that his heart was breaking, and he angrily swallowed his tears as he descended to his Potions lab in the basement. He was going to brew (and stew) until Minerva got tired of watching Harry sleep and came looking for him. He couldn't stand to watch the innocent child sleeping any longer, as if by simply being asleep, the boy was mocking his incompetency and stupidity.

It had been many years since he had allowed his heart to open for another, and in such a short time, he had gotten crushed again. He wasn't going to try again, he swore. He had been stupid to make those promises to himself without thinking, without counting the cost. Maybe he was more like a Gryffindor than he thought. Seemed to him like more Gryffindors than Slytherins got broken hearts anyway.

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Severus Snape was sullen as he prepared for his classes the next morning.

His conversation with Minerva McGonegall played in a merciless loop in his mind and he had not really slept after she left. She had joined him in his lab close to midnight, and coolly informed him that Harry had woken. Although the child still seemed nervous around her, Harry had allowed her to help him to eat. She then won Harry's confidence by telling him a story about his parents before tucking him in for the night. While Severus was grateful for her initiative, he could not help but feel jealous of her easy way with children. He was brusque, and rather rude, when he thanked her and escorted her to the floo. After she was gone, he retreated to his lab until after three in the morning, and when he returned to his bedroom, seeing the boy sleeping so peacefully drove him over the edge again. He had cried silently, and angrily, though he would never admit it, and scolded himself for being so maudlin over the brat. He hated Potter, he reminded himself. He had resented Lily for abandoning him and marrying that bullying prat. Why should he care at all about the boy? It was regretful, of course, that young Potter was so mistreated by his relatives, but once Dumbledore knew of it and placed the child elsewhere, that would be that. The boy would be safe in a stable home and Severus Snape could just forget about the boy's soulful gaze and entreating arms and trusting tears. He would simply put all his wild emotions down to lack of sleep and stress. He had no idea why he hadn't just taken the brat to St. Mungo's at the beginning.

Or so his mind attempted to convince him. Even he could tell that he was lying to himself.

His first class wasn't for an hour, but it was First Years. The littlest dunderheads, he sneered to himself. First Years were typically more fun the other classes for him, (on account that the younger ones were easier to intimidate, and they were all so predictable) but somebody always managed to melt a cauldron or make a cheeky remark that would put him into a foul mood for the rest of the mood was already soured without any mishaps yet. He was not looking forward to whatever the little idiots would manage to do today.

Snape snarled and grumbled to himself as he alternated between setting out the correct ingredients, and re-reading the essays he should have graded last night. He absolutely hated to get behind, and the essays themselves were due back to the students at classes tomorrow. But he was distracted and angry and irascible. He had left Harry asleep with a tray of porridge and some toast on the bedside table, potions to take, and some more books, along with written instructions and a little charm around his neck that he could rub to summon Professor Snape. Severus had the matching pendant around his own neck and it had remained dormant all morning, for which he was grateful. He was rapidly working himself up into one of his famous tempers.

A note magically arrived on his desk and Snape cursed out loud before he snatched it up.

Severus: Please come up to my office as soon as you possibly can. We have a development.

-Albus

P.S. Have you seen this morning's Daily Prophet?

Severus Snape stared at the cryptic note and his stomach curdled in his gut. He had not looked at the paper that morning because he was in such a foul mood. Leaving his classroom and office locked and warded, he took his office floo to the Headmaster's Office. He arrived and dusted himself off with a quick spell before he turned stiffly to face the bearded man at the desk.

"Albus," he muttered between clenched teeth. "What is it?"

The old man looked every bit his hundred plus years as he slowly held out a newspaper to his Potions Professor. Severus Snape took the issue of the Daily Prophet and impatiently shook it out, but he froze in horror at the picture and headline.

BOY-WHO-LIVED GONE MISSING: DUMBLEDORE INVOLVED IN COVER-UP

Under the headline was a recent-looking picture of Harry Potter, likely a school picture that had been treated with the moving-picture potion. The dark-haired, bespectacled boy was standing in a plain room beside a desk that dwarfed his tiny frame. He was gazing blankly out of the picture, never moving his soulful gaze to the left or to the right, merely blinking behind his glasses every few seconds and fidgeting with his hands. He was smiling, but it looked forced and uncomfortable. It easy to tell how thin he was even under the horribly ill-fitting clothes he wore, so much like the blood-soaked ones he had worn when Snape first found him. The reminder was like a punch to the gut which left the man gasping for air and dropping into the nearest chair.

Severus quickly recovered and scanned the scathing article, written by none other than Rita Skeeter, an up-and-coming journalist whose sensationalist work was more along the lines of tabloids like the Quibbler, not an official publication like the Daily Prophet. Skeeter beseeched the public to keep an eye out for the missing boy and ruthlessly bashed Dumbledore for his unlawful actions, including but not limited to: enlisting Ministry Aurors on the sly for investigations into the boy's disappearance, and then cautioning them to be keep it quiet, even to the head of their department, Amelia Bones. While not strictly ethical, Severus had to agree that keeping the Ministry's sticky hands out of a delicate operation like this had been a good idea. He wondered who squealed. Shacklebolt was out of the question; he was Dumbledore's man through and through, as was Moody, who was paranoid enough to keep it all to himself anyway. They were both members of the Order of the Phoenix besides, and Snape only had to assume that the old man had been forced to pull in some additional Aurors who only had meager connections to the Order, the Potters, or Dumbledore himself.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape demanded, but his tone was dull, not accusing.

"Harry's disappearance has been leaked to the press," the old man replied. "While I feared it would happen, I had hoped I could control how much information would be leaked."

The younger man studied the picture of the boy, blinking and staring out at him. "Where did that vile Skeeter woman get this photograph?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily and folded his hands. "I can only assume she procured it from the Dursleys, or perhaps from his primary school, and had it treated with the potion to make it come alive."

Professor Snape shook his head in disgust. All of his plans were falling down the drain. How was he going to tell Dumbledore about Harry now? The old man would have good reason this time to be angry with him, not to mention devastated about Harry's Lycanthropy.

"Do you know who talked?" the Potions Master asked, stalling for time.

The elderly headmaster shook his head, his blue eyes dull and distant. "Moody said he would find out, but the knowledge would do us no good," he murmured. "We must still find the boy, but now that the Wizarding public has been alerted, perhaps our chances of finding him have increased."

Severus Snape did not answer. He cradled his forehead in one hand, staring at the newspaper in his lap, wondering how he could have ended up in such an impossible mess. He was startled by the sound of Dumbledore's office door, the grinding of the gargoyle down below. A soft bell-like chime sounded and the old man leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"Come in, Minerva," Albus called out. Snape frowned, wondering how the old man did that. It was annoying to be called into the office by name before you even introduced yourself or knocked on the door.

Minerva McGonegall swept in, looking rather elegant in a russet-red teaching robe. "What is it, Albus? What's happened?" She sounded brusque and impatient, and Severus imagined that she was trying to prepare for her first class of the day. As I was before the world came crashing down, he mentally groused.

Snape answered her question, rudely cutting off the Headmaster before he could speak. "I'm afraid we have a bit of trouble, Minerva." He tossed her the newspaper and watched her face pale when she saw the photograph and headline. She raised her eyes and glared at him. He nodded meaningfully at her and she sighed before she dropped into a chair.

"Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later," the Scottish woman muttered. "I hope you don't mind, Severus, when I tell you: I told you so."

"No need to rub my face in it, insufferable cat," Severus snapped. "And like I told you last night, I was planning to tell him today anyway." He folded his hands tightly in his lap and closed his eyes briefly. He was dreading what he was about to do. Dumbledore was not going to be happy with him, and Severus would be ashamed of his dishonesty and former rage against the Headmaster. He knew that he ought to have told the old man at the staff meeting. How could everything have gone so wrong? He hated to lose Dumbledore's trust like this. Even though he maligned the old man for being a meddling busybody, he did still respect the man, and revered him as a mentor, and a friend.

"I'm sorry, Severus, Minerva; but do I need to leave the room?" the Headmaster inquired politely. "I fail to understand the nuances of your unspoken conversation."

"First of all, Headmaster," Professor Snape sighed, opening his eyes and gazing earnestly into the calm, blue eyes of his mentor. "I believe I owe you … an apology."

"An apology?" Albus Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, his gaze turned shrewd and suspicious. "Severus, you didn't leak the story, did you?"

"No, of course not!" Severus almost laughed at his own ridiculousness. "No … what I did is far worse." He rubbed his hands nervously. "I …" he glanced over at Professor McGonegall, who just gave him a stern look over her spectacles that he remembered all too well from his school days. "I'm afraid I have not been completely honest with you, sir," Severus tried again, fixing his ashamed gaze on the desk rather than his mentor's face. "You see … Friday night, when Harry Potter went missing … I knew all along where he was. But I did not tell anyone."

He glanced up desperately, but Albus' face was expressionless. When the old man spoke, his voice was calm. "You mean to tell me that Harry is alive and well, and you have been hiding him for some reason, Severus?"

"Er …" The Potions Master felt the immature urge to squirm under the calm, reproachful eyes of the Headmaster, but valiantly resisted. "He is alive, but not quite well, if you know what I mean, sir … and yes, I've been hiding him. Minerva found out last night and, well …" he trailed off miserably, uncharacteristically too ashamed to go on.

The Headmaster tapped his fingertips together, his blue eyes sad and reproachful. "And you did not tell me because …?"

"Because I was afraid you would send him back to his relatives," Severus confessed, staring down at his tightly folded hands. "Minerva and I both warned you not to place him there to begin with, but you didn't listen then. I did not anticipate you listening this time either."

"You have concerns about them, Severus?"

"They've abused the boy!" the young Professor jumped to his feet and clenched his fists at his sides. "They beat him, tortured him, convinced him that magic is not real, or that it's evil, or both! Vernon and Petunia don't care if the boy is dead or alive, and they've even encouraged their son to bully his cousin at every opportunity. I will not allow that child to go back there, and I don't care what your reasons are, Albus."

"Slow down, Severus," the Headmaster said in a soothing voice. He held out his bowl of sweets. "Lemon drop?" he offered.

Snape shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach. He knew that Dumbledore laced his office sweets with calming draught, but he couldn't stand the thought of candy at a time like this when he could barely tolerate sweets on a normal day. "The boy was attacked by a Werewolf, Albus," he said pleadingly. "He almost died that night. A Werewolf in a muggle neighbourhood! How did it happen?!"

The old man went deathly pale at Severus' revelation. "A Werewolf?" he repeated softly. "You are certain?"

"I have treated the wounds, done the blood test, seen the Dursley brat's memory … what more do you need?" Professor Snape demanded bitterly. "I suppose we must wait until next full moon to be absolutely certain … but I am quite sure. The boy has been 'turned' by a rogue Werewolf and we must figure out what to do now! I knew we couldn't let this leak to the Ministry, yet how are we going to help him deal with it? He's not even nine years old!"

The Headmaster shook his head silently in answer. He looked devastated and horrified. Tears began to trickle down the old man's face, which suddenly looked even older. "You did right, Severus," he said softly, surprising both of his Professors. "You were right to hide the boy and care for him. I do wish you had told me … but I understand your reasoning. I gave you no indication that I … did not know about how the Dursleys treated poor Harry. I swear to you both … I did not know."

"What are we going to do, Albus?" Minerva suddenly changed the subject, her voice soft and uncertain. "The boy is going through so much … Last night he broke down twice in less than an hour, and as his emotions become so much more volatile with the waxing of the next moon …"

"I know, I know," the old man murmured. He wiped his tears and tapped his fingers on the desk as his mind went right to work. "Well, first of all, I should like Poppy to examine the boy," he said slowly. "Not that I believe you did a substandard job, Severus, but she is a very qualified medi-witch and she treated our own Werewolf student years ago, as you'll remember … and I … I would like a chance to see Harry as well. I could also ask Remus to come by and have a talk with the boy. He's the only Werewolf I would trust with a secret like this."

"Remus Lupin?!" Severus snarled. His body trembled with a long-remembered fear. "You can't be serious!"

"Unless you have another Werewolf acquaintance you trust, Remus is our only option, Severus," the Headmaster said severely. "Besides, I am not sure you are aware that Remus is a qualified Mind-healer … unofficially of course. No sane Wizard would sponsor a certified Werewolf counselor, would they? At any rate, with the emotional and physiological issues Harry will be dealing with, having someone to speak with and confide in will go a long way to helping his mental health. Harry needs someone to be able to explain to him the changes that are occurring in his body and psychology, and what is to come, in a way that a child can understand. I don't know if you know this … but Remus is very good with children."

Severus Snape snorted and folded his arms. He knew the Headmaster was right, but he didn't want to admit it. "Fine, but only after Harry's first transformation," he finally conceded. "We can call the … the Wolf, then, agreed?"

"Wouldn't it be more comforting for Harry if Remus could transform alongside him the very first time?" Minerva butted in. "Why would you want to wait and put Harry through more suffering?"

"No," Snape snarled. "He will form an indissoluble bond with that wolf if he transforms alongside him."

"Shouldn't that be desirable?" Albus asked patiently. "Harry will need somewhere to belong, a stable parental figure …"

"Remus is nothing less than a roaming gypsy!" Severus exploded. "He has difficulty holding onto any sort of job, he's a moody mess, he's always traveling, he was suicidal for years after he lost his friends … You tell me if that is an ideal, stable father-figure for a vulnerable child like Harry!"

The old man smiled strangely and folded his hands serenely. "Then who do you suggest, Severus?"

Snape sucked in a sharp breath and threw Minerva an unreadable glance. "Me," he finally said in a soft and uncertain voice. His colleagues were silent. Dumbledore arched an eyebrow at Severus, waiting for him to continue. "I … I know I am not ideal …" Snape stammered, at a loss for proper words and flustered beyond belief. "But I … I truly want to. I want to care for him … and I don't know, but I think Harry would like it. We have … made some progress together over the last few days … It wouldn't have to be permanent, of course. Just until he's stable and well enough to transition into a proper family."

"I told him he's being silly," Minerva McGonegall interrupted, shaking her head in disapproval. "What can he possibly know about raising children? He isn't even very fond of children in general. I can't believe he's still holding onto the idea."

"Minerva," Albus said gently, stopping her tirade. "There is much you do not know about Severus Snape. Yes, he does not know much about raising children … but then, what father does when his first child is born?"

"That is quite different, Albus!" the Transfiguration Professor huffed. "Severus isn't going to be raising a baby, but rather he is going to be rehabilitating a sensitive, traumatized nine year old boy! And what's more, the son of James Potter! That boy will need attention, and sensitivity, and gentleness, all of which will be difficult for Severus to provide with his busy schedule and his past history with the boy's father! He may be coping now, but would he be able to do it for a few months at the longest? I swear to you that it will not turn out well!"

Snape scowled and folded his arms. "I am still standing here, you know," he glowered. "I understand all of that, and frankly, I know it's a terrible idea …" The man sighed and his shoulders slumped. "But I feel like I must," he said softly. "I cannot explain it. There is some instinct inside me that simply … screams, at the thought of anyone else caring for the child. He's … I feel like he's mine. Or should be. It is … confusing."

"I understand completely, Severus," Albus Dumbledore said heartily, his eyes twinkling just as they used to, or perhaps even more so.

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the old man. Did Dumbledore know something he didn't? Probably, Severus sneered to himself. The old meddler always knows more than he lets on.

"What is more," the Headmaster went on in a jolly tone. "I am pleased and proud that you feel this way about Harry, dear boy. I had hoped you two might bond when he started Hogwarts, but this is even better. Would you be amenable to pursuing an official adoption?"

Severus balked and his arms fell to his sides. The old man could not be serious! He could feel Minerva gaping at both of them, but he couldn't move. "I …" he finally spluttered. "Well, no, of course not! Why would you even think that? I told you that I planned to care for him temporarily!"

"If we do not find a suitable family, and the Ministry catches wind of it, Harry might very well be at the mercy of Fudge and the highest bidder," Professor Dumbledore said quietly.

Severus Snape sighed and rolled his eyes. "In that case," he grumbled. "I suppose I would be amenable to adopting the boy, if only to keep him safe from the likes of Malfoy and the Ministry … but he deserves something more than an ex-Death Eater for a parent. I merely want to care for him in my own home until a suitable adoptive family can be found for him. I am prepared to keep him for as long as I must."

"Severus Snape!" Minerva clucked disapprovingly, her HIghland accent becoming more pronounced as it always did when she was upset. "Have ye lost yer mind, lad?"

"No," Dumbledore interrupted suddenly, with one of his secretive smiles. "No, I believe our Severus has found his mind at last."

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Remus Lupin, Werewolf, was a slightly built man with an untidy mop of soft brown hair on his head and a slight mustache. Three slash-like scars decorated his face and his mild brown eyes sometimes glinted in the torchlight, looking almost gold. The Werewolf roamed the corridors of Azkaban, his Patronus marching lithely at his side. Remus had difficulty in finding jobs, on account of being a Werewolf, so he was forced to take what work he could, no matter how distasteful. Today, he had been hired by the Ministry to search Azkaban for a rogue Dementor that had been reported recently, and to deal with it. In many ways, it was a routine dark creature hunt; but it could go horribly wrong, and there weren't many volunteers for the dangerous job. Remus mentally shrugged. 'Whatever paid the bills' was his motto.

The horrible Wizard prison was a nightmare in more than one way. The robed guards who floated through the halls on patrol were more terrible than any creatures of flesh and blood. The Dementors were creatures of pure darkness who fed on positive thoughts, evoking a sense of cold and hopelessness in the humans around them, forcing them to relieve their worst Lupin kept a supply of chocolate in his pocket to help him fight off the worst effects, but even his unusually high tolerance for their presence was being tested in the depths of the prison. The corridors of the twisting towers were labyrinthine and confusing. The cries of despair and horror from the unfortunate souls imprisoned here echoed off the sheer black walls. The prisoners in the cells Remus Lupin passed cried out or sobbed with relief as the passing patronus granted them a reprieve from the oppressive despair of the Dementors. As Remus drew nearer to the deepest cells of Azkaban, under the highest and best-guarded tower, the two Aurors at the next door glanced up from their card game.

"Oi, where d'ye think yer goin'?" one of them bellowed. His patronus, a silvery blue bulldog, waddled up beside him, and his companion's patronus, a hearty beaver, sidled up on the other side.

"My name is Remus Lupin," the Werewolf replied in a calm voice. He backed away from the aggressive guard's extended wand and held up his hands to show that he was unarmed. "I was sent by the Ministry to investigate the business about the dementor that's been stirring up trouble?"

"Oh, right" the guard shrugged and stowed his wand away. "Yer the Werewolf they sent t' tek care o' the dementy-problem. Sorry 'bout that," the grizzled man grunted. He turned to unlock the huge barred gate behind him and his silent companion with the beaver patronus helped with the heavy bars. "We rarely go down thisway," the first guard explained. "Dementors tell us anythin' we need ta know. The elfs tek care o' the feedin' an' whatnot, and the prison guards tek care o' discipline issues."

Remus winced. He knew about the Azkaban prison guard system. Occasionally, prisoners who had been sentenced for life were allowed extra privileges for good behavior. These prisoners patrolled the cell block they were assigned to and granted a bit more freedom. They took care of discipline among the other prisoners and reported directly to the Azkaban guards, who were different. The Azkaban guards were fully qualified Ministry Aurors, who were accompanied by their patronuses and allowed wands, unlike the prisoner guards. Remus knew that the prison guards abused those under their power, even though large abuses (like torture and murder) were reported by the Prison's wards and severely punished. That did not stop the prisoner overseers from occasionally beating or humiliating the poor souls under their heels.

"This's where You-Know-'Oo's followers ended up, most of 'em," the guard chattered on as the huge gate creaked open. "An 'ole cell block o' Death Eaters. Mad as mad 'atters, the lot of 'em. Think ye can 'andle it, gov'?"

"I can handle it," Remus Lupin replied. He absently stroked the head of his huge patronus.

Once the gate was open, he could hear a chorus of moans, cries, and hysterical shrieks echoing dismally off the walls. A cold wave of despair, like a damp wind, flowed out through the doorway and all three patronuses in the corridor shivered and flickered. Remus shoved more magical strength into his patronus and marched into the corridor, raising his wand and incanting a wordless lumos. There were very few torches in this damp corridor. On his right, as the heavy gate slammed shut behind him, two ragged, rough-looking men stepped out of a guardroom.

"Yer the Werewolf the Ministry sent, yeah?" one of the men rasped.

Remus inclined his head in answer, and gestured at his patronus, obviously an oversized wolf with longer canines than normal. "Where's the dementor that's causing all this trouble?" he asked politely.

"Ah, that'll be the one that patrols the upper level, block D," the other ragged prison guard grunted. He grabbed a flickering lantern and eyed him cautiously. "This way, Werewolf."

Remus grimaced slightly, but he followed the prisoner. Even among the condemned, a Werewolf was seen as foul and unclean. They never bothered to learn his name or use it. They just called him Werewolf. Remus felt his Wolf growing angrily deep down, but after the stunt he pulled last week, Remus wasn't talking to him, and he ignored the Wolf's indignation.

They passed a cell containing a wild-eyed man who flung himself at the bars, foaming at the mouth and cursing them. But the presence of the patronus calmed him and he fell against the door, sobbing wildly and begging for them not to leave. Remus did not recognize him, though he winced with sympathy for the distraught wizard. A spiral staircase of flimsy stone led them up to the next level, which was just as gloomy and depressing as the lower one. They passed more cells full of cursing occupants who sobbed or fell silent when they felt the patronus. The ragged prisoner leading Remus also looked better, standing straighter and walking more purposefully. The patronus exuded an aura of calm and peace, allowing the prisoners to access their happier memories if only for a moment. Even though most of these people had assisted in Lord Voldemort's rise to power and his reign of terror, Remus Lupin could not help but feel pity for their suffering. It had been a good seven and a half years since the fall of Voldemort, and for most of these prisoners, they had been here in this hellish prison for seven long years already, and had a lifetime still to look forward to.

One more level up, the prison guard stopped at the top of the spiral staircase and held up his lantern, barely illuminating the extent of the dark hallway.

"This's it, Werewolf," he grunted. "It's at the far end o' the corridor. We keep gettin' false reports from this 'un sayin' that a prisoner's gone, but he's right there in 'is cell, an' the dementor attacks us if we go near. Careful."

"I will be; thank you," Remus replied softly as he started forward, his patronus prowling silently at his side.

His superior vision pierced the gloom of the corridor and he could see the shadows of the cell doors. Some of the cells had windows and he could hear the cruel howl of the wind outside. Azkaban was on a rocky island surrounded by an eternal storm of wind and driving rain, which made it difficult to approach, dangerous to apparate into or out of, and impossible to try and escape from.

"Werewolf! Beware the Werewolf!" a woman screamed from the cell directly on his right. Her mad shrieks of laughter, combined with her shrill voice, made chills run up and down Remus' spine and he spared the madwoman a disgusted glance before he faced forward again. "Come to play, Werewolf?" the insane Death Eater shrieked, still laughing. "Bring your shiny guardian wolfie and we'll play!"

He ignored the woman's insane rambling and hurried on past her cell. Remus knew her by sight, though he had never had the misfortune of making her acquaintance. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. She had been one of Voldemort's most loyal followers, and she'd been arrested after the demise of the dark lord for torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity. Her wild black hair framed a ghostly pale, drawn face with big, dark eyes like the staring orbs of an inferi. Remus shivered and marched forward.

The temperature plunged and the Werewolf stiffened as he heard the rattling breath of a dementor close by. His patronus stepped protectively in front of him, and his wandlight flickered weakly.

Remus Lupin squared his feet and aimed his wand at the darker shadow among the shadows at the far end of the corridor. "Dementor, I adjure you by your oath to guard the prison of Azkaban, speak!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "What troubles you, dementor?"

There was another rattling breath, and a voice brushed his mind. It was high and cold and whispery, like death itself.

The prisoner goes … the prisoner returns … delicious memories … then not … precious sanity … I am hungry… too confusing … take care of it … must figure it out.

Remus struggled against the freezing chill of the dark creature wrapping around his heart. His wolf patronus began running circles around him to protect him from the eager Dementor's aura.

"Show me the prisoner giving you problems, and I will resolve this," Remus ordered the creature sternly, drawing on the Wolf's strength to keep him upright. "Dementor, I also have orders from your superiors that you are to take over the patrol of the 37th cell block, level H, effective immediately. Do you understand?"

The Dementor was young and inexperienced by their standards, and the dark creature was cowed by Remus' authority, as well as the dangerous raw magic pouring off him. Werewolves had a higher tolerance for Dementor proximity than most creatures, and humans especially. Remus watched as the shrouded being considered his words and then drifted back down the corridor. The cells were warded with powerful magic to keep the dementors from sucking the prisoners completely dry before their time was up. But in the Death Eater tower, the wards were weak and ill-repaired, exposing these people to maddening levels of dementor magic. Remus planned to lodge a complaint with the Ministry about that.

The cell the dementor stopped at seemed much like the others. It was a thick wooden door with thick iron bars and a little padlocked food-flap at the bottom. Remus turned to the creature, already getting dizzy and shivery from the intense cold around it. "Is this it?" he asked needlessly. He groped in his pocket for chocolate and slapped a square in his mouth. It was cold and bitter, but as he chewed it, the chill seeped out of his limbs and he could see a bit clearer. The cries and screams of his worst memories drifted away again just to the edge of hearing.

The dementor inclined its head and touched the Werewolf's mind with its icy voice. Prisoner … sane … goes and comes …I will go now … new patrol … You resolve this.

"I'll resolve it," Remus assured the creature. He gestured and his patronus followed, pushing the dementor further away. "You have done your duty, now go."

The dementor turned and floated away. The prisoners in the cells which the shrouded creature passed moaned or wailed in despair as the dementor's presence leached what little comfort they had received from Remus' patronus.

Remus Lupin increased the light of his wand and peered into the cell. The top half of the sturdy door was made up of thick metal bars, with barely enough space to stick an arm through. It was reinforced with magic and the iron bars were slowly rusting away. The cold stone cell was rectangular, longer than it was wide. At the far end was a cot with the foot facing toward the door, and a table and chair. He could see the magically-emptying chamber pot under the narrow bed, and a neatly folded bundle of blanket, sheet, and pillow resting on top. On the table was a washbasin, pitcher, and a cup for drinking. In all, it was basic, but the prisoner would not lack anything necessary here, except maybe a shower. Some of the better Azkaban cells were connected to communal showers and there was more room for socializing, and more time between dementor patrols, but up here, comfort was minimal. These were the worst criminals, and they were given only the necessities to stay alive. No more.

Remus swept the cell with his eyes, wondering where the prisoner was hiding. He didn't see either a man or a woman in the cell. Could it be that the prisoner had smuggled in an invisibility cloak? Well, Remus reflected on second thought, that wasn't likely. The dementor should still be able to sense the prisoner through the cloak.

"Where are you hiding?" he finally demanded aloud. He kept his voice low and firm, not wanting other prisoners to overhear. But he hoped that the prisoner wasn't going to force him to call the Aurors so they could open the cell door. That would be a hassle and he was already cranky and ready for lunch. "Show yourself!" he ordered, brightening his light just a bit.

A pair of glittering eyes appeared under the bed, behind the chamber pot. Carefully, Remus lowered the uncomfortable brilliance of the lumos charm and gestured with it. "Come out," he said firmly. "I need to ask you some questions."

He expected an emaciated man or woman to come crawling out from under the cot. Instead, a big black dog wriggled out instead, its body rail thin and trembling. Remus opened his mouth in horror as the dog shifted before his eyes to become an emaciated, rag-clad man with matted black hair and beard. His calm blue eyes were startling in his sunken face. Remus actually jerked back in alarm.

"Moony?" the man whispered hoarsely. He stepped forward with something like hope glittering in his dull eyes.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Ah, the plot thickens! Now that Dumbledore knows about Harry's condition, things will start to speed up, and we also have two more players entering the stage: the last of the Marauders! Stay tuned, as I plan to post the next chapter on Wednesday as soon as I can clean it up. There are some things I'm still tweaking with Moony and Padfoot's reunion.

Let me know what you think! I am unbelievably grateful for your reviews! They encourage me to post far quicker than I otherwise might! (hint, hint)