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)

8. Chapter 8: Marauder's Bond

Rated T for all the baggage that comes with an eight year old victim of child abuse and a werewolf bite.

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

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LAST TIME, ON CHILD OF THE DARK MOON:

Carefully, Remus lowered the uncomfortable brilliance of his lumos charm and gestured with the wand. "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.

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Chapter 8: Marauders' Bond

"Don't call me that!" Remus Lupin snarled, taking a hasty step back from the cell of Sirius Black. "Don't ever call me that, you traitor!"

The black-haired man flinched, but he stepped closer anyway until he stood by the door, squinting at his old friend against the wavering wand-light.

"Remus then," the man said wearily. He leaned against the cell door and wrapped his thin, trembling hands around two of the bars. "Or Lupin? What sort of questions are you asking?"

Remus steeled himself and flicked his glowing wand at his patronus, wordlessly ordering it to keep any dementors away for a few moments. He took a deep breath, but he could not hold back the tide of emotion and memory that swamped his mind and overwhelmed him. Brought face to face with his former friend, a man once closer to him than any brother, unleashed a host of emotion that caused his patronus to blaze suddenly, much brighter than before, and then to fade, almost disappearing. The man in the cell watched as his old friend's patronus rapidly shifted strength, and he shouted in alarm. Remus shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, fighting the trembling that seized his limbs and the ice-cold sensation in his chest. He had not had a panic attack in years, but it seemed like that was what was happening. He opened his mouth but he couldn't breathe and his limbs felt terribly weak. He felt like the world was coming to an end. He was going to die in Azkaban.

"Remus!" the prisoner cried out, watching his Werewolf brother sway on his feet. "Stay here, Remus, don't go anywhere!" he ordered, wracking his brain to try and remember how he and James used to talk their nervous friend down from a full blown panic attack. "The best way to defeat a boggart!" he blurted out as the presence of his friend's patronus allowed him to remember that particular game they had invented.

"Th-the Riddikulus jinx," Remus rasped, still gasping for air.

"Good, good, and the cure for a petrifying curse?"

"M-Mandrake Root, extracted into a potion at the full moon." The Werewolf blinked as his control came back and his breathing eased.

"Very good," the prisoner said in a soothing tone. "List the ingredients of a calming draught."

"Flobberworm slime, chamomile flowers, lavender petals, immature pixie wings …" Remus trailed off as he realized that he had been obeying orders from a prisoner of Azkaban. He shook himself free of the last bits of his almost-panic attack and took a deep breath.

"Better?" Black asked anxiously. "I don't want you passing out on me down here. They'll probably give me the kiss if they think I had anything to do with it."

"Shut. Up," Remus hissed furiously, leveling his wand at the man with a shaking hand. "You're changing into your animagus shape to avoid the dementors, aren't you?" he accused.

The man nodded, his eyes suddenly growing haunted. "I had to do something, Moo … er, Lupin," he said hoarsely. "I was … I was losing my mind … I couldn't take it. Nobody notices when I transform, so I … I kept doing it. To stay sane, you understand." The man's blue eyes filled with tears and he gazed beseechingly at his old friend. "Please, Remus … don't tell them. I … if they put me in an animagus cell for life I'll lose my mind … I'll forget them … I'll forget everything… Please don't tell anyone. Please."

Remus stared at the emaciated prisoner. Almost everything in him wanted to go down right now and tell the Aurors to animagus-proof Sirius Black's cell or move him. But those blue eyes were so full of hope and fear that he simply couldn't. His heart was breaking. Combined with his last full moon, and what he read in the newspaper today … he was just having a very bad week.

"I won't," Remus whispered faintly. "I … I should tell them, you know," he clarified with an angry scowl. "But … I can't." He shivered, and blamed the chill of the prison, not his overwhelming emotions, for whatever came over him.

"Thank you," Black whispered. "I can never repay you for this, Remus. Thank you so much."

Remus took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. The chill of this place was making him break out in cold sweat. After he threw a square of chocolate in his mouth, he impulsively stepped forward and shoved another square through the bars, into Black's mouth. The man looked shocked, but he chewed the chocolate slowly. A bit of color returned to his ghostly face and he smiled a little shyly.

"Thanks," Sirius Black whispered, looking relieved and a little more coherent. He rested his forehead against the bars and peered earnestly at his old friend. "I didn't do it, you know," he added.

Remus jerked and gave his old friend a murderous scowl. "Didn't do what?" he growled.

"Didn't betray them," Black clarified in a soft, heartbroken voice. "It was my fault, but I didn't … that is, I wasn't … I wasn't secret keeper at the end. You've gotta believe me, Remus. I'd never break the Marauder's Bond like that. Never."

"Liar," Remus muttered, thumping his forehead against the clammy tower wall. He was suddenly too tired and filled with grief to fight anymore, and some part of him actually longed for closure with Black. Against his better judgment, he kept talking. "You were tried and found guilty and here you are. Don't interpret my characteristic compassion for the miserable as condoning your betrayal, Black."

The man winced and his eyes overflowed with tears again. "I'm innocent, Remus, truly I am!" he whispered pleadingly. "Please believe me … I wrote every day for two months, begging them for a trial. One day the guards just came and moved me up here with the crazies. I never saw the Wizengamot, I never even got veritaserum, even though I begged for it … You've got to believe me, Remus. I never got a trial and I swear on my life and magic that I didn't do anything."

"You killed poor Peter," the Werewolf whispered, heartbroken all over again. "You killed him and thirteen innocent bystanders. Even if you didn't betray the Potters, you're still a murderer."

Sirius Black growled like an angry dog and kicked the cell door with his bare foot. "Peter isn't dead," he snarled quietly. "He transformed right in front of me and ran off! I didn't cast a single spell, but nobody even bothered to use 'Priori Incantatem' on my wand! When I figure out where the little rat is hiding, I'm breaking out of here and hunting him down, the filthy traitor! He framed me, that's what he did, clever little bastard. When I get my paws on him, he'll be sorry!"

The Werewolf stared at his former friend, hardly able to believe that this lunacy was actually coming out of the man's mouth. "You're insane," Remus Lupin declared quietly.

Black shrugged sadly and licked his lips, likely still savouring the last bitter taste of Remus' strong chocolate. "So ... have you got the crosswords from the Daily Prophet?" he asked casually. "At any rate, I can wrack my brains out for a few days over it and that should keep Padfoot away for a little while …"

Remus scowled at the prisoner, wondering if the man was joking. The Sirius Black he knew used to tease Lily about the Daily Prophet crossword puzzles she loved to do. Black wasn't really a wordsmith, but the crosswords might actually keep him focused and busy for awhile. Remus didn't know why, but he pulled his rolled up newspaper out of his deep coat-pocket and passed the whole thing through the bars. He waited for Black to open it and see that Harry had gone missing. Somehow, the man's reaction to that would be more telling than anything. But Sirius Black merely murmured thank you and held it tightly. He didn't open it.

"You might want to take a look at today's headline," Remus commented as he turned to leave. "You might find it interesting." He shrugged. "Or you might not care. I have to go."

As he was marching down the winding stairs amid the groans and mad mumblings of the prisoners, Remus was startled by a howling scream from above, like an animal being killed.

"REMUS!" the voice howled. "GET BACK HERE, YOU BASTARD! YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT AND LEAVE! COME BACK! WHAT IN HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Remus Lupin turned to the inner Wolf by default. Think we should go back?

Oh, you're talking to me again? The Wolf snarled. Well you can go back to talking to yourself, because I'm not talking to you either!

Fine, Remus threw back, continuing his trek back to freedom and the light.

Let Black write a letter, if he was so inclined. He had no wish to march back up and get his head bitten off. But maybe the fire of rage and worry would keep Black alive and sane (if only out of indignation) for some time. Remus needed to check with the ministry, and Dumbledore, about several things first before he engaged Sirius Black in another conversation. The man's words had made him very uneasy indeed.

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Harry sat in the middle of the big bed, poring over a thick, shiny book entitled: Bubble, Boil, Toil and Trouble: An Alphabetical Compendium of Widely Used Potions, Their Ingredients, and Their Origins. He was really enjoying it. Having finished the A's, he was now reading about Bezoars. He thought it was kind of gross and kind of fascinating that something a goat made in its stomach and, er, pooped out, could be used to counteract poisons. The little boy giggled softly at the moving picture in the book that kept showing a pair of gloved hands digging through a heap of goat manure and pulling out a dirty little oval thing like a small, lumpy egg. He enjoyed all of the pictures in this book, which wasn't at all like the gardening books Aunt Petunia had. The pictures actually moved. One of his favorites had been the Amortentia potion. The picture of the actual potion sparkled colorfully like kool-aid, and the Amorous bees in the picture of the potion's ingredients were really buzzing around the narcissus blossoms, also used in the potion. Though he wasn't sure how useful a 'love potion' would be, unless you were trying to make somebody look like an idiot.

But despite the confusing bits, it was all fascinating stuff, and the recipes worked like cooking. He wondered if he might be able to cook potions that did all of these amazing things. He was a pretty good cook, and he could follow recipes really well. Aunt Petunia hadn't complained about his cooking skills in weeks, and that meant he was really good. Only he couldn't follow any of the recipes because he wasn't sure what widdershins meant. He didn't know what a lot of the words meant, and the Professor hadn't given him a dictionary.

Harry yawned suddenly and his stomach growled hungrily.

He was feeling better today, with only a little bit of achiness and weariness to complain about. Absently, Harry reached out for the bowl of grapes and the crackers that the Professor had left for him on the breakfast tray in case he got hungry later. He didn't know when the Professor was coming back, or even if he would be around for lunch.

The Professor, despite being so nice and patient last night, was grumpy and quiet this morning. He didn't say much beyond a few grunted words, even preferring to leave a note for Harry on the tray instead of just waking him up and telling him to eat his breakfast and take his medicines. Harry had been pretending to sleep, but he was watching the Professor grumble and mutter under his breath as he moved around the room. Harry had decided it was safest to stay 'asleep', knowing how bad it was when grown-ups were grumpy or angry around him. They didn't mean to take things out on him, he knew, but if he was silent and invisible, he wouldn't annoy them. Once he woke up, he took the weird necklace off and dumped in the drawer in the bedside table. It was a flower, which was kind of odd, but wearing things around his neck made him nervous. Dudley once fancied himself a cowboy from the American television shows and made Harry his victim when practicing his lasso moves. Ever since then, Harry eyed ropes or similar things the same way people eyed snakes. He wasn't even sure how the thing had ended up around his neck in the first place. The Professor hadn't even touched him. It must have been magic, the boy concluded, though he shivered a little at that thought.

Glancing over at the neat row of empty bottles on the nightstand, Harry was confident that he had done everything the Professor had asked him to do and he wouldn't get in trouble later. He had even stayed in bed all day even though in the morning, after he took the nasty bitter one for pain, he had really wanted to get up and go clean the kitchen or something. He sighed and shifted his position before he flipped the page in his book. He ate his grapes distractedly and stared at the moving picture of the next potion. Biggering Potion was interesting, in that it made things larger for a set period of time. It was applied topically on objects, but could be ingested, despite health risks. Notes at the bottom pointed out that the biggering potion was more widely used in pranks, since it wasn't a very practical way to temporarily enlarge things. The best way, the book noted, was to use a carefully controlled engorgio charm.

Harry crinkled his nose in confusion, and flipped to the next entry: Birth Ease. He knew a little about how babies happened, but he didn't want to think about such an icky subject. He once asked his uncle and the man's gleeful and awfully graphic description made him want to throw up. But he still didn't quite understand how that made babies, or where the baby came from later when it was born. Harry shook his head in bewilderment and shut the book, unable to take any more confusion. His head throbbed and his eyes ached from reading so long. He finished his grapes and crackers and curled up under his quilt for a nap.

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When Harry woke up, it was because that weird whooshing noise had sounded downstairs. Harry had learned by now that it meant someone was in the house. He wasn't sure what the noise was made by, because if it was a door, it was the weirdest sounding door in the world. Groggily, Harry sat up.

A strange-looking wolf walked in through the door, but Harry recognized it at once. His chest clenched in fear. It was the shaggy brown one that had attacked him. Harry screamed in horror and panic, and he threw the heavy potions book at the beast. The book sailed in slow motion through the air and the wolf didn't even blink. Nothing seemed real. The very air felt feverish and thick. Was he dreaming?

Come to me, cub, the wolf called in an eerie voice. The doorway suddenly led to a dark forest. Strangely, Harry felt a strong pull toward the woods and to the wolf and he kicked off the quilt, meaning to follow. Come to me; where you belong, my cub, the wolf called again. It turned and vanished into the forest and Harry tried to call after it, but his throat hurt.

"Come back …" the boy croaked. "Please … don't leave …"

"Harry?"

Harry jerked awake, for real this time. A hand was touching his shoulder, and he looked up into the tired face of the Professor. He felt shaky and feverish, and his head felt light, like it was floating. His bones ached terrifically and he groaned before he could stop himself.

"Are you in pain?" the Professor asked tersely. Harry winced. So he was still grumpy, then. The man pulled out his stick and started waving it around, watching Harry for an answer. Harry nodded hesitantly, since his teeth were clenched tightly together so he wouldn't start bawling like a baby, (again)and that meant he couldn't speak. "I'm afraid I cannot give you anything for the pain," the Professor said with a frustrated sigh. "What I have won't help you. In fact, a pain potion will make your pain worse right now. I'm sorry."

"I'm … I'm alright," Harry managed to grit out. "Bones hurt," he added with a pathetic whimper. "Wh-what's wrong with me, Professor? Am I … am I dying?"

"Certainly not," the Professor growled. "Not if I have anything to say about it. Could you manage some tea? If you drink something warm it might help those aches and pains."

Harry nodded obediently, hating the pathetic tears that burned his eyes. He was just fine before he fell asleep, so why did he feel so awful now? The Professor left the room and Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on something beyond the agony pulsing in his bones. He was drifting somewhere between sleeping and waking when he heard the eerie voice again, this tine barely more than a whisper.

You belong with me, cub.

Harry jerked and his eyes sprang open. His heart was pounding and the wounds on his chest throbbed in time with his violent heartbeat. Was he going crazy? Or maybe he was dying. The wolf thing was angry that Harry wasn't dead yet, and now it was haunting him like a grim reaper. Harry shuddered and fought uselessly against the frightened tears that ran down his face. Trembling and silently crying, Harry truly wondered what was wrong with him. He always used to heal quickly back when he lived with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, but he kept having painful relapses, even though he was taking medicine and everything. Maybe he'd caught rabies and he was going to die a stark raving lunatic.

By the time the Professor came back with the tea-tray, Harry had worked himself into a grief-fueled panic. The man looked both irritated and worried to see his tears and shakes, and once he set the tea-tray down, he rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Does it hurt that badly?" he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Harry threw caution to the wind and launched himself into the Professor's arms, clinging to him tighter than he had last night after his flashback in the tub. "I don't want to die!" the child wailed. "I don't want rabies!" He sobbed passionately, clutching Professor Snape like he was the world's last hope, and indeed, to Harry, the man did feel like his lifeline.

"Hush, child, calm yourself," the Professor said firmly, but he hugged Harry back and held him. Harry began to calm down when he felt the gentle hand rubbing circles on his back, and his sobs subsided to hiccups. He was rather glad that the Professor didn't make him drink the slimy, flowery potion again. It felt better to be able to just cry his tears out and rest limply in the Professor's strong, solid arms.

"Are you calm now?" the Professor suddenly asked, his voice muffled because Harry's right ear was pressed against the man's chest. He smelled like spices and bitter fumes and sweat, but it was such a nice scent. He would never get tired of it, and he didn't want kept his eyes shut and nodded, but he didn't move or loosen his death grip on the man's shirt. He could hear the Professor's steady heartbeat and his lungs when he breathed, and combined with the man's unique smell, Harry realized at once that he had calmed because he felt safe here. The Professor kept him safe.

"I'm s-sorry, sir," Harry whispered, still not daring to let the man go. He sniffled and very nearly started weeping again, but the man suddenly raised his hand from the boy's back and began to stroke his hair.

"Why don't you tell me why you are so upset?" the Professor said quietly. "I will listen."

Harry gulped and sniffled again. His nose was running, but he didn't want to move his head. The Professor's heartbeat and breathing were solid and kept him safe.

"I'm dying of rabies, aren't I, Professor?" Harry whispered. "That's why I'm not getting better and I'm going crazy and getting haunted by the wolf; right, sir?" The Professor froze and Harry squeezed his eyes tighter shut as more tears leaked down his cheeks. "I d-don't w-want to d-die, Professor," he sobbed.

The man sighed and set his hands on Harry's shoulders before gently, but firmly, pushing him back so they could see each other's faces. Reluctantly, Harry released the Professor's shirt and lifted his head. The Professor grimaced at the sight of his face and found a handkerchief in his pocket to clean away his tears and snot.

"Mercy, child," the Professor muttered. "You are enough to try the nerves of a saint, you know that?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry choked, scrubbing at the fresh tears that ran down his face. He had been foolish and weak, and now the Professor was annoyed with him. Harry hoped that the man would just leave him be and wouldn't lecture him or punish him. He was so fragile right now that he knew he couldn't handle anything remotely difficult.

"You are not dying," the Professor said in a very serious tone. "Look at me, Harry."

Harry obeyed and looked directly into the man's dark, fathomless eyes.

"You. Are not. Dying," the Professor repeated slowly and emphatically. "Do you hear me, child? I dislike repeating myself, and I will not tolerate a fatalistic fit of despair again. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, feeling confused and relieved at the same time. "Yes sir," he replied on a very tiny voice.

"Repeat what I just told you," the Professor ordered him sternly.

"I … I'm not dying," Harry whispered, unable to fully comprehend the words. "I'm not?"

"No, you are not," the Professor sighed in exasperation and tightened his grip slightly on Harry's shoulders. "You are very ill, and still recovering, and you will be sick for the rest of your life, but I can assure you that your chances of dying anytime before you turn two hundred are very slim indeed."

Harry blinked in disbelief. Did the Professor just tell him he might live to be two hundred years old?! That was impossible, wasn't it?

"But what's wrong with me?" Harry pleaded, hating the fresh tears and burned down his cheeks. "Why will I be sick all my life?"

The Professor sighed and let go of Harry's shoulders. He sat down carefully on the bed beside the boy, and Harry looked up at him in confusion and apprehension. The man looked suddenly older, and so very tired. His eyes were both sad and angry, but Harry knew somehow that the Professor wasn't angry with him; not anymore.

"Have you ever heard of Werewolves?" the Professor asked slowly, still not looking at Harry. When Harry didn't answer, the man turned and arched his eyebrows expectantly at him.

"I think so, sir," Harry replied in a hoarse, croaky voice. "They … they're guys that turn into wolves and kill people. I think they can only get killed with a silver bullet."

The Professor frowned and rubbed his chin with his hand. "Hmm," he muttered, looking bemused. "Well, close enough." The man shook himself and focused on the buttons of his coat, stroking one of them with his finger while he talked. "Werewolves are … interesting creatures, to say the least. The Werewolves that are around are well known among the magical community, and they're feared as well. Once a month, Werewolves transform from their human bodies to that of a wolf and they lose control of their mind and human faculties. A Werewolf under the full moon is a cunning, dangerous beast, and they can, and do, attack people." The Professor sighed and looked up at Harry, dropping the coat button. He raised his hand and reached out, resting it on Harry's head. His dark eyes were intense as he spoke his next words, softly and firmly. "People who are bitten by a Werewolf, and survive, become Werewolves as well. Every full moon for the rest of their lives, they then transform into a wolf and lose their human mind. They become capable of … of making other Werewolves as well."

"Why?" Harry whispered, a terrible feeling clawing itself out of his throat. The Professor wasn't saying what he thought he was saying … was he?

"Why do Werewolves thirst for blood?" the Professor asked with an arched eyebrow. When Harry didn't reply, the man sighed and dropped his hand to the boy's shoulder. "No … you're asking me why I'm telling you this, aren't you?"

Harry nodded hesitantly. He was terrified of the answer, but he had to know. He had to know for sure if he really was a monstrous freak like his Uncle and Aunt always said.

"Harry," the Professor said softly. "When I found you … you were almost dead. I knew then that you had not been injured by a normal animal, but I wasn't sure what had hurt you. I … I performed tests and I watched you carefully, but I'm afraid there is no doubt. I'm sorry, but … you … you've been infected by a Werewolf. I'm … terribly sorry about what has happened. But I have done my best, and you will be in some pain for the rest of the month, until … until your first transformation. After that, the rest of your recovery ought to be swift."

Harry couldn't move. He could barely think. This … this was worse than his worst nightmare. He was a monster. It would have been better if the dog-wolf … the Werewolf … had just killed him. For an instant, he wanted to hate the Professor for saving his life, but the shame that quickly followed made his throat feel tight with tears again. The Professor had saved his life and taken care of him. He had no right to be mad at the man for doing something so selfless and good, even if it might have been better for everyone if he'd just died.

"Harry?" the Professor prompted him gently. "What are you thinking?"

"I …" Harry gulped on his tears, but suddenly, they flowed down his cheeks and he felt his face twisting in pain, emotional and physical. He covered his hot face with his hands and sobbed. "I wish I was dead!" he wailed. "I'm s-sorry, s-sir, for all m-my t-trouble, for b-being a … a m-monster."

"Stop that! Listen to me!" The Professor grabbed Harry by the arms suddenly, and his voice was sharp and harsh. "Listen, Harry; and look at me. Please."

Harry obeyed, struggling in vain against the awful tears still pouring out of his burning eyes.

"You must not wish for your death," the Professor said in the sternest voice Harry had ever heard from him. "You must never think that the world would be better without you, or that death will ease your pain. Death is not the answer. It rarely is. Are we clear, Harry?"

Harry nodded, wide-eyed and bewildered. "But s-sir …" he stammered, but the Professor cut him off and kept talking.

"I do not regret saving you, and despite what you are now, I will never think of you, or call you, a monster. Did you not hear me? I said you have been infected by a Werewolf. You are sick, and you will carry this sickness with you all your life. I want to help you to manage it, to live with it, and to protect others from it. I will help you, but you must accept my help and trust me. Can you do that, Harry?"

This time, Harry did not nod right away. He stared up into the man's eyes, burning with intensity like black flames. He took a deep breath and realized that the Professor's passionate lecture had shocked him out of his tears. He could smell the Professor's scent, so close and warm and safe … and Harry closed his eyes as he nodded. He would trust this stern, scowling man who saved his life, and he would not ever wish he was dead again. He really didn't want to die eight now, it just might have been more convenient if … No; he had to stop that train of thought. He would trust the Professor. He had to. He had nobody else to trust.

Harry nodded again and took deep gulps of air to stave off the fresh tears. He breathed in the Professor's scent of herbs and sweat and other things he couldn't identify, and he was surprised that this man had come to represent safety to him. In another lifetime, he would have shied fearfully away from this Professor …but now? Now he realized that somehow, he did trust the Professor. He had never trusted an adult before, but then, no adult had ever cared enough about him to tend his hurts, make him take his medicine, and talk to him. It felt natural, and it felt right. He had never realized before how badly he wanted to trust someone to take care of him. Would the Professor be terribly offended if he called him Dad every now and then? Harry wondered. Because this was probably what having a real dad felt like.

To Harry's surprise, the man gently pulled his trembling form into his strong arms and held him for what felt like a very long time. Harry relaxed in the man's embrace and let out a long sigh. For some reason, he felt like he was home.

"I'll trust you, sir," Harry whispered, just in case the Professor missed his nodding before.

"Thank you, child," the Professor whispered back, stroking his hair. "Thank you."

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"Professor Dumbledore, just please tell me he's safe!" Remus Lupin stood in Headmaster Dumbledore's office clad in his threadbare robes, frantic with worry. The old man was getting on his last nerve. He was having difficulty restraining himself from grabbing the Headmaster by the lapels and shaking the answer out of his maddeningly cryptic mouth.

"Yes, Harry is safe," Albus Dumbledore replied serenely. "There is nothing for you to worry about, dear boy."

Remus and his Wolf both growled ferociously. "Don't 'dear boy' me," the Werewolf snarled, clenching his fists as he struggled to reign in his temper. "I'm asking simple questions and I want simple answers! Why won't you tell me where Harry is and what happened to him? Why won't you explain what I saw in the Daily Prophet this morning?"

The old bearded Headmaster sighed and folded his hands atop his desk. "My reasons are many, dear … er, Remus." He smiled apologetically at his slip-up. "I cannot tell you where Harry is right now because –"

"Because you don't even know where he is, right?!" Remus Lupin exploded. He slammed his fists down on the desk. "Tell me where's the last place he was seen, and I'll track him down; you know I will! I'll make the bastard who took him pay for this, whether he's wizard or muggle!"

"Remus, I beg you to restrain yourself," Dumbledore said gently. "Reign in your temper and listen to me. Now … I cannot tell you where Harry currently is because his guardian requested that I keep his location a secret, and I heartily agree. Harry was never kidnapped, but he was hurt badly. A passer-by found him, took him in, and cared for him … and the child is, sadly, still recovering. I have permission to allow you to meet with him next month."

"Next month?" Remus scowled. He rapped his knuckles impatiently on the desktop. "But why?"

"Dear son, I am afraid I cannot answer that," Albus Dumbledore replied in a soft, regretful tone. "You will understand all when you see the child though, of that I am certain."

Remus flopped into a chair, his energy and temper spent. All that was left now was a raw wave of grief. "I ought to have checked on him every now and then," he moaned softly, cradling his head in his hands. "I abandoned James and Lily's child … I should have done something!"

"And what would you have done, Remus?" the ancient Headmaster asked gently. "You were in no shape to raise a child after they died. You could not have done anything."

"I … I still should have done something," the Werewolf repeated stubbornly.

How could he explain to the Headmaster that he had broken the Marauders' oath when he forgot about Harry and wallowed in his own grief instead? The four of them, mere children at the time, had sworn to be faithful and true, to care for one another and to regard each other's kin as their own. Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail had been closer than brothers, as close as packmates ... But in one night, one fell swoop, Remus Lupin lost his three closest friends and his will to live. Sirius Black broke the oath and betrayed James and Lily to their deaths, and then he went and hunted down poor little Peter who never hurt anyone. With James and Peter dead, and Sirius in Azkaban for life, Remus Lupin did not even think of his surrogate godson. He did not think of anyone but himself as he fled into the wilds of Siberia and joined a wild Werewolf pack to drown his grief in the howls of the lost. But that didn't last long. Once back in civilization, Remus turned to drink and found out just how much it takes to get a Werewolf drunk to the point of collapse. So many hours he spent alone in an apartment staring at his wand and wondering if it was possible to Avada Kedavra oneself. He even stood on bridges in muggle cities, wondering if a Werewolf would die if dropped from such a height. He survived three suicide attempts with muggle weapons before the muggles locked him up in an institution, but he broke out. An old friend spotted him about to step into heavy traffic on the autobahn in Germany, and literally dragged him back to England, where he slowly learned to live again.

It was three years after that Halloween night before he even thought to ask about the famous boy-who-lived. How was Harry? Is he safe? Dumbledore gave him the same answers then as he was getting now: he's safe, don't worry about him, I can't tell you where he is, etc.

The old man was tiresomely secretive, Remus thought with a heavy sigh. But it was probably with good reason.

"So who leaked the story to the press?" the Werewolf demanded, his blood roiling at the thought of wreaking his vengeance on someone else.

"I do not know, nor do I want to know," Headmaster Dumbledore replied sternly. "I have already given one interview today regarding my, ahem, cover-up. I don't want to be forced to give another on my apparent need for assassins."

Remus almost smiled at the man's humour, but he had to admit that Dumbledore was right. If he went after the leaker, the blame would fall squarely on the old sighed and decided to bring up his other subject.

"Alright then, so tell me why Sirius Black never got a trial."

The old man blinked at the swift subject change. "Didn't he?" he said mildly.

"He didn't, and you know it," Remus growled, his temper rising again. "I wasn't even in the country at the time, but I asked a few people. They all said the same thing. So … why didn't he get one? Even Barty Crouch Jr. got a trial and we all know what he did."

Dumbledore sighed and folded his hands. "The reasons are myriad and complicated," the old man said quietly. "I did attempt to have the wizengamot give him a trial, but it was right at the end of the war, you know. There are plenty of Death Eaters in Azkaban who did not receive trials either, like the Lestranges and the Carrows."

"Didn't the Aurors even interrogate him? Remus snapped. "Did they at least get a confession with veritaserum? Or did they just throw him in prison?"

"Remus, dear boy, we have been over this," the old man said sadly. "Sirius Black was the secret keeper. The Potters' location was revealed to the Dark Lord. Ergo, they were betrayed by their secret keeper. And even worse, the man was found laughing in the middle of the street, with thirteen dead muggles and one dead wizard beside him, and bystanders clearly heard poor Peter cry out that Sirius had betrayed James and Lily! The wizengamot considered that plenty of evidence to convict him, just as they considered the tortured Longbottoms to be enough evidence to put the Lestranges and Carrows, and Crouch Jr. in Azkaban."

Remus Lupin shook his head in disbelief. "Have you ever heard of circumstantial evidence?" he demanded. "Say someone in some muggle town like, I don't know, Little Whinging, gets bit by a werewolf, and I happened to be staying nearby that night. You won't just throw me in Azkaban because I happen to be the one most obviously the perpetrator! No, every wizard, even a werewolf, has the right to a fair trial, to be heard, and they have the option to submit to veritaserum. Sirius Black begged to be given veritaserum and insisted on his innocence all the way to prison, yet nobody raised a finger to get him a trial! What is wrong with you?!"

"As I said, the reasons are many, and they are complicated," Dumbledore repeated patiently. "By the way, were you near Little Whinging last full moon?"

"How could you just abandon Sirius like that?" Remus Lupin threw back, and paused at Dumbledore's second question. "Yes, actually I was," he answered with a frown. "My magical core was low so I couldn't apparate, but I had to do some shopping and Little Whinging was close. I holed up in an old shack in the woods about ten miles from the town, though. I'm not that stupid."

"I see," the old Headmaster said slowly. "And you are certain that the wolf didn't leave the shack?"

"We-ell," Remus flushed guiltily. "Truth be told, I woke up in the woods about two miles from the shack. I guess the wolf got hungry. He killed an owl and a rabbit."

"That's all the Wolf killed?"

"I'm pretty sure … Hey! Why are you interrogating me like this? Did somebody get bit by a werewolf in Little Whinging last full moon?"

The Headmaster of Hogwarts adjusted his spectacles and seemed to think carefully before answering. "There was something odd that happened there last full moon, that's all," he said slowly. "But you may want to make your Wolf give up his memory of the night so you can view it in a pensieve just to be sure. You may use mine if you can get the memory."

Remus Lupin felt a chill of fear rush up his spine. His Wolf gave off a sense of snarling at him to back off, and that solidified Remus' resolve. "Right," he murmured, and shook himself, coming back to the issue at hand. "But … can you at least tell me why you didn't get Sirius a trial? Were you so certain of his guilt, then? Did you even speak to him?"

The old man suddenly looked ancient. He sighed and looked down at his hands, folded on his desk. "I had to choose," he said softly. "The wizengamot was pressed for time, and I had to choose. I chose Sirius because of you all those years ago … I decided that I would choose differently this time."

Remus was silent for several minutes while he puzzled out the man's cryptic statement. "It was Snape, wasn't it," the Werewolf murmured, not asking a question. "You chose him this time … and he got a trial?"

"He was our spy in the enemy's camp, and I promised him my protection," Dumbledore replied, gazing at Remus with his wise blue eyes. "Besides … I knew for certain that Severus was our man through and through. His trial was held in secret, with only some members, to keep his involvement with the Order a secret from folk like Lucius Malfoy. Severus …he was subjected to … extreme interrogation, and veritaserum. But he came out acquitted of his crimes and I hired him as the Potions Professor to protect him from further harassment. By the time I resubmitted a request for Sirius Black, the Death Eater trials were over and everyone wanted to move on. I … stopped trying. There did not seem to be much use. Everyone knew Black was guilty."

"I talked to him today," Remus said quietly, not looking at the Headmaster. "He was … pretty sane, for someone in Azkaban. He still insisted that he wasn't really the secret keeper and he didn't betray the Potters … and something else weird, he insisted that Peter's not really dead. Can you believe that?"

"Poor man," Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose he may be on the edge of madness, then. He is certainly deluded. Peter Pettigrew is dead. He was blown into so many pieces, the only piece of him they were able to identify was one of his fingers."

"That's it?" the Werewolf leaned forward, the light of suspicion in his eyes. "They only found his finger?"

"The street was littered with the body parts of thirteen muggles, from whatever spell Sirius used to destroy the street," the old man said sadly. "The rest of him could have been scooped into a cremation chamber with those poor people."

Remus Lupin frowned, his mind churning. He needed to speak with Sirius Black again, but the Death Eaters were not allowed to have visitors. He would have to create a clever ruse to get back inside, or he'd have to be lucky enough to get another job there. Abruptly, he stood up. "I see," he sighed, as if convinced. Of what, he had no idea. He had too many questions now. "Well, I suppose I ought to be going, then. Sir, I do apologize for dropping in on you like I did, and I thank you for taking time out of your day to speak with me. I really appreciate it. So … you'll tell me when I can see Harry?"

"Absolutely," the Headmaster said solemnly. He held out his famous sweet bowl, his blue eyes once again twinkling. "Lemon drop?"

"You know I only like chocolate," Remus threw back teasingly, but he took one anyway and slipped it into his pocket.

"Thank you for coming by, dear boy," Dumbledore said cheerily. "It is always good to see my alumni again."

"I'm sorry for losing my temper earlier," the Werewolf laughed sheepishly. "Coming right off the full moon, I'm a bit cranky. I trust that Harry is safe, and you're right about Black. He's gone crazy. And although he probably should have had a trial, it was years ago now."

"Indeed," the old man replied with a serene smile. "Take care of yourself, Remus, and watch for my owl in about three weeks."

"Will do," Remus nodded and turned to the floo.

He went to the Hog's Head Tavern in Hogsmeade before he walked out and apparated away. He had too many things to do, up to and including: devising a way to have a good, long talk with Sirius Black, investigating the entire Black case, and of course, figuring out what happened to Harry and why he knew that he could use his skills as a dark-creature-tracker to find the boy. The old man need not know about it, and Remus simply couldn't let the matter rest for a whole month. He had to find the child and assure himself that Harry was safe, or he would never forgive himself this time. He had made too many mistakes already; with his friends, and with the boy. It was high time he started fixing them.

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

The prisoner had long ruminated over the idea of escape, but there never seemed a good time to do it. He first had the idea when he noticed how most of the Dementors disregarded his existence if he was in the form of a dumb beast. If he could get out of the Death Eater tower, it would be easy to find a window to slip out of. Padfoot could swim a few miles of ocean water, and it was his best chance. The Dementors, now that the young, suspicious one was out of the way, wouldn't even notice his absence. The prison's house elves would certainly notice when they brought his meal, so his best, longest window would be just after supper. As Padfoot, he could hunt down food and slip unseen through muggle neighbourhoods. He could steal from clotheslines and windowsills and make his way across the British isles to … he wasn't quite sure where. The Daily Prophet had not mentioned where Harry had been before he disappeared. But he would trust in luck and keep moving, and he would trust the Marauders' bond. Remus would not betray his animagus status, even if the news came out of his escape. As Padfoot, he would be perfectly safe.

Sirius Black stared at the photograph of his godson from the Daily Prophet and tears rolled down his bony cheeks. Harry had become a truly handsome boy, with his mother's fine bone structure and his father's messy hair, but he was so thin and solemn. He didn't look happy at all. He looked troubled and uncared-for. And it was all Sirius' fault. If he hadn't been such an idiot and had gone for reinforcements first … Peter would be in Azkaban now as he deserved, instead of Sirius. Sirius Black knew without a doubt that he likely would have broken the Marauder's oath to make sure Wormtail couldn't escape, the way he was now planning all, Peter broke it first.

Harry could have been safe and happy, with a godfather who loved him, and Remus would visit often, of course. Children loved Remus, and Harry had loved his 'Uncle Moo'ey' when he was barely a year ' rejection earlier today, even his cold and grudging kindness, cut Sirius Black's heart wide open. Nobody believed him; not even his one remaining friend. Why would they? He was alone, just as his poor Harry was alone. He would not rest until his godson was found, and safe. He didn't care what or who they sent after him. He would fight all of hell to reach Harry, and Sirius would not rest until his godson was safe, or he was dead.

Sirius fought back his sobs and folded the newspaper page lovingly before tucking it into the one pocket on the breast of his shirt. His prison uniform was threadbare and thin, and would be of no protection against the icy waters of the North Ireland Sea. But he was sure that Padfoot's thick black fur would protect him. He would find better clothes on the Irish mainland, if Padfoot could swim that far in the icy, choppy waters. He shivered at the thought, but for his godson, he would swim twice the distance in arctic temperatures if he had to. Nothing would stop him from finding Harry and keeping him safe. Nothing.

He was glad that he had been an Auror, and had spent his required two months of guard duty on this forsaken island, or else he wouldn't know where he was. Most prisoners did not know exactly where Azkaban was located, but he was lucky. It would make his escape that much more expedient. He closed his eyes to wait for his supper, and to mentally map out his route. He would slip out of the cell, (since the cells were warded against all apparition and even house elves had to unlock his little food flap on his door rather than just popping in with his meal) and he would be forced to incapacitate the elves, sadly enough. He was sure Padfoot could squeeze through the little door in his currently emaciated condition, and he knew that there would only be two elves at the most. He could handle it, but keeping it quiet would be the trickiest prisoner of Azkaban waited, like a hunter with a trap, for the unfortunate elves to help him with stage one of his grand escape plan.

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

The plot is picking up, and Harry finally knows what's wrong with him ... sort of. He's only a little boy so he doesn't really understand what being a Werewolf truly entails. I won't be able to post this Friday because of Thanksgiving, but I will update on both Monday and Tuesday to make up for it!

Note: I am American and I have not read the HP books in two years, so any British spellings and slang will be from memory, don't be afraid to tell me what I got wrong!

Enjoy this chapter, and thank you for all your reviews! They make me so happy!