Hello Everyone! I am currently doing a rewrite of Voldemort's Wolf, another of my stories, hopefully, this story will have much better grammar and storytelling than the previous version. I will be adding more content as well and changing a few things up. I hope you all enjoy!
Chapter One
The Wolf Under the Bed
It was dawn; through the ragged moth-eaten curtains that hung limply from the rail, golden rays of sunlight burst upon the sparsely decorated back room of 4-Private Drive. Harry groaned, his arm coming up to shield his eyes from the light that threatened his tired eyes. As he rolled over the old wood frame creaked beneath him, The slats seemed to press into his bone, along with worn springs, through the flimsy mattress; becoming far too aware of the uncomfortable thin duvet above him, and the even thinner pillow beneath his head, Harry dragged himself awake.
He fumbled around on the floor beside his bed until his hand landed upon the cool metal of his glasses, he slipped them on before stretching his limbs out into the air around him as he tried to purge the ache from his muscles. He stood and walked to the trunk at the end of his bed, the room didn't contain a wardrobe, the few items that he had were secure in the trunk.
Popping open the trunk he was greeted by the soft smell of parchments and inks, he danced his fingers over the cotton of his jumper tracing over the crest embroidered upon it. Behind it sat the jumper Molly had knitted him, he smiled at the memories longing for that home. Instead, he selected a more casual attire: a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt.
Once dressed he stood before the mirror that was propped up against the wall, it was missing one side of its frame and a crack has formed in one of the corners and every time he looked at it it seemed to grow even bigger. He sighed and brushed his hair back from his face, it was getting far too long.
Happy Birthday, Harry.
Hedwig's cage sat empty in the corner; he had sent her out the previous night, much to his Uncle's displeasure. He missed her company but she deserved to sore the skies, rather than cooped up in a small stuffy room.
Returning to the trunk he fished out a small package that was wrapped in brown paper and closed with thin twine, the words 'do not open until your birthday' written with blotchy ink on the front. He unwrapped it and found a small book within, he turned it over in his hand, the black leather was cool to the touch, upon the front he found the title 'A Beginners Guide to Annimagus Transformation'.
He discarded the wrapping and sat down on the bed, a smile tugged at his lip when he flicked open the first page to see in the same handwriting: 'From Moony, Padfoot and Prongs'. The first chapter covered the basics of what an Annimagus was, and what one should expect when shifting into their form: 'The Witch or Wizard that undergoes learning to transform should know what to expect during their first shift, it is highly recommended that young Witches and Wizards, or first-time shifters should attempt it under the supervision of another Wizard or Witch…'
Harry found himself quickly reading the next few chapters, on the basics of transformation and the types of creatures that one could expect, he found himself quickly growing excited as the possible creatures, perhaps he would be a bear! Or maybe a stag, like his Patronus. What if he was a fish, would just die here on the carpet?
He pushed aside that thought and discarded the book to the side; he once again found himself standing before the cracked mirror staring back at his own figure. Remembering what the book had instructed he closed his eyes and worked on centring himself, he didn't know if he was doing it correctly but assumed that he was. Next, he moved on to connecting with his inner self, 'This version of you exists just beneath the surface, it is the essence of who you are…', after a while, he opened his eyes but only found himself staring back at him. 'Truly connect with that person, that creature inside of you, imagine the fur, the hair, the paws, the ears. Don't force it, it will come naturally or not at all…'.
He repeated the process, this time he could almost feel the fur coating his skin, ears flicking upon his head; then as quickly as it came it was gone, he clung to the feeling but with a shiver, it left him.
His body drooped in disappointment as he opened his eyes, he found them blurry, but after several blinks, they began to clear. The blurry towering object before him came into focus, his mirror loomed above him. It was as tall as a three-story building- no, that wasn't it, then it hit him, he had been shrunk.
The reflection in the mirror now came into focus and he found himself not staring at himself but rather the lanky form of a young wolf pup. He startled, a yelp emerging from the small creature, as he quickly backed up he found himself caught up in the long legs below him; with a small thud, he found himself laid on the floor.
Long seconds passed, he remained sprawled out on the rough carpet taking deep breaths to calm the fear that had suddenly washed over him. Eventually, once his chest began to rise and fall in a steady slow rhythm he began to collect his limbs below himself; he wobbled, his new legs once again threatening to slip out from under him, but soon found his footing.
Curiosity struck him, he found himself walking back towards the mirror, getting close enough that the cold glass found itself on the wetness of his nose. He tilted his head to the side, large ears flopping, as he studied himself.
The fur that covered his frame was black, scruffy, the fur sticking in odd directions as though he had just rolled through a meadow. Bringing his front paw up he was awed by the size of it, just like his ears they were much too big for his body. Shiny black claws emerged from the midnight fur, they were sharp but thankfully did not stick to the carpet as perhaps a cat's would have done.
He returned his focus to the mirror, from the inky black fur two emerald eyes blazed; but this is not what drew his attention. Just below his left ear, something glistened in the light, tilting his head he was met with a small patch of silver fur, it was in the shape of a lightning bolt. It seemed that not even here he could escape it.
BOOM!
His ears switched at the sound as his heart began to race. Perhaps it was just something falling over? Perhaps the post being delivered? Harry hoped that it was just new sensitive hearing, but he could not escape the feeling that something is wrong.
He heard the door to his Aunts and Uncle's room burst open, he tracked the thundering footsteps and they marched down the stairs, they stopped short.
"What is the meaning of this?! Who are-"
"Where is the boy?" A cool voice hissed, the tone was relaxed but demanding nonetheless. Harry's heart lept up his throat, this was bad, he needed to change back.
"Boy!" His Uncle bellowed. Harry's breathing was now erratic, he tried to focus himself, find his centre. However, when he opened his eyes he found the wolf still staring back at him. 'first-time shifters should attempt it under the supervision of another Wizard or Witch…'. Cursing himself he glanced around the room desperate for a way out.
Petunia had made her way out of her room, her lighter steps pattering over the soft carpet, she stopped dead at the top of the stairs with a sound between a gasp and a scream.
"Out of my way Muggle," a new set of footsteps were now making their slow ascent of the stairs, they were much lighter than Vernons who grunted in displeasure as he was pushed aside. Harry heard Dudley's door squeak open followed by Petunia racing towards her son, she must have shut them into his cousin's room as the next thing he heard was the door shutting.
As the handle of the door began to turn, Harry turned and dived under the bed.
Voldemort had found himself stood in a small suburban culdesac, each of the houses was a print of the other, each with neat front gardens and immaculate lawns; he sneered in distaste, Muggles had no sense of style. He had located the house easily enough by the small number plaque nailed beside the door.
Not bothering with the pleasantries of knocking, he sent a blast towards the door which ripped the wood from its frame. He stepped over the debris and into the house, once again he was greeted by more poor decorating, ugly carpet in a colour he did not know to name.
Soon he was greeted by what he assumed was the child's uncle, the man thundered down the stairs, he stopped short when they locked eyes, the man stuttered questions at him. Voldemort merely raised his hand, the Muggle fell into silence, good, I do not have time for stupidity.
"Where is the boy?" he questioned, the man gawped at him before hollering up the stairs, there was no reply. Voldemort sighed, of course, the boy would not come out, if he had any sense he would probably be climbing out the back window. However, he could feel the boys aura, it hadn't grown any weaker, he was still here.
Another Muggle had entered the stairway scene, a woman, the boy's aunt; she was much skinnier than her husband, much taller. The aunt stopped at the top of the stairs and had not dared to go any further, her hands were balled up in front of her.
He sighed deeply; if Potter would not come to him, then he would go to him.
He began to climb the stairs, "Out of my way Muggle,' the man all but flattened himself to the wall. There was a squeak of another door opening, the woman rushed towards it, the door then closed. He let Potter's cousin and Aunt cower in the room, he had no use for them.
Once he found himself on the landing he turned to the door which seemed to radiate magic, there was no doubt that this was the child's room. His wand slipped from his robe into his waiting hand as he reached out and opened the door.
He was surprised to find the room barren, had he expect the boy to be stood there, defiance written upon his face, wand drawn and ready for a fight? Truthfully, he was slightly disappointed, but also slightly confused. Magic blossomed in the room, he could feel it, like an electric current in the air, but Potter was not there.
Glancing around, he examined the room and found his hatred for Muggles blazing as he took in the conditions of the room. It was more pitiful than his old room at the orphanage, the room's furnishings consisted of a feeble excuse of a bed and an old cracked mirror. Small indentations could be seen in the carpet where other items of furniture had apparently once stood.
The only two other items in the room were an empty owl cage that stood in the corner beside the window; and a trunk that was popped open at the foot of the bed. Voldemort remarked at the similarity between it and the trunk which he had called his during his time at Hogwarts, the only striking difference was the clothes, whereas his had been decorated with green and silver, the Slytherin colours, Potter's were embroidered in red and gold, the trademark of Gryffindor.
He noted the book that had been discarded amongst the tread bare duvet cover, 'A Beginners Guide to Annimagus Transformation'; he paid it no mind and instead fished out another object from within the sheets, the boy's wand. There was something familiar about It as he weighed it in his hand.
It did, however, confirm that the boy was still here; unless he had been foolish to run without his wand. He stepped back from the bed, now becoming aware of where the magic in the room was originating from. Kneeling down, he looked under the bed; if he had expected to find the child huddled underneath, or perhaps to have been greeted with a hit to the face, he would have been wrong. Instead, he found two emerald eyes staring at him from the darkness, wide with fear. How peculiar.
He reached under and pulled the creature from the inky depths, it yelped and pulled away from him but the Dark Lord managed to place it on the bed above. He stepped back, raised his hand to his chin, "How did you get here?" he muttered to himself, watching as the wolf pup struggled to its feet on sheets that slid from beneath its paws.
The pup was all legs, big paws and even bigger ears, the dark fur didn't seem to be able to decide on which way it should rest and therefore rested in all of them. He then spotted the silver patch of fur that shimmered below the wolf's ear… in the shape of a lightning bolt.
He glanced again at the discarded book, and then back again at the emerald eyes; his lip twitched into a smile, "Struggling to turn back, Harry?". The wolf froze, its gaze was now locked firmly on him, he scooped up the book and flipped through the pages, "Don't worry about it, it's perfectly natural for the first time, though the book did warn you not to do it alone. Yet again, I sincerely doubt that it would have been able to predict how badly this has gone for you." He sat down on the bed, "now, now, don't look at me like that, this unique predicament really is your own fault."
Once again he flicked through the book and settled on a double spread that detailed the recipe for a potion to reverse the transformation, he turned it so that the wolf could see. Harry had managed to push himself to the foot of the bed but inched forward to glance at the contents of the page.
Voldemort stood and summoned a crate which dropped onto the bed, Potter had not been expecting this and so had startled almost falling from the bed. The Dark Lord reached out and unlocked the door, it swung open, "in," he commanded. The wolf pup did not move, he had not expected it to, "there are no ingredients for the potion here, Potter, either come with me or see what those Muggles do when they find you in this state. Maybe you will land yourself your own exhibit at London Zoo?"
The wolf looked questionably at him, he could almost see the gears of his mind working, weighing up each option; a smile broke out on his face when slowly the pup entered the crate. With a woosh of magic the door locked. "Splendid choice."
He levitated the crate behind him and he descended the stairs, the Muggle man was still rooted to the spot as he passed him, it seemed as though he was about to mutter something but fell silent. Voldemort stepped over the remnants of the door and into the street, it was still early and the neighbours seemed to have slept through the commotion. The air began to crackle and with a thunderous crack, the street was empty.
Harry glanced up through the bars of the crate, his stomach had lurched when they had disapparated, his head had grown dizzy as the bright sunny street morphed into a darkened room. Now it began to settle and he could make out the room around him. The room was tall, topped with an arched ceiling, along the walls was a line of towering stain glassed window.
Outside a storm churned, lightning flashed sending a bright light through the glass, for a mere second the floor was painted in shades of purple and royal blue. The room reminded him of an ancient church, with darkened stone and deep brown woodwork. It would have been beautiful under any other occasion.
Voldemort walked before him, blocking the end of the room from view. He had been stupid to give up his freedom so quickly, he had done so without thinking and now he regretted it. They climbed a small set of shallow steps, Harry then caught a glimpse of the object that was raised upon it. A tall throne stood tall before a large circular window, the crate turned and Harry lost sight of it as he was turned to face the rest of the room.
A series of cracks echoed through the room and cloaked figures appeared one by one, he turned back to Voldemort. The wizard was running his hand over his face; Harry watched as the features below shifted, how the skin rippled like waves on water. Lips appeared around the mouth, a nose erupted between the cheeks, and as the hand continued upwards hair began to sprout growing in dark waves.
Silence fell over the hall, the series of pops had ended, "Welcome, my loyal followers," Voldemorts voice no longer hissed, rather it was smooth, "it is my pleasure to announce that Harry Potter will no longer pose a threat to our plans, the boy has been dealt with." The room erupted in laughter, Harry only half-listened to the rest of Voldemort's preaching and instead observed the crowd.
They were silent while he spoke as if they were clinging to every word, every breath. He did not recognise many of the silver masks that stared emotionlessly back at him, though he could point out a few that he recognised from the graveyard. Grief washed over him.
Before he knew it the cloaked figures began to disappear once again, "Lucius, stay behind," Voldemort commanded and a figure bowed. Once only the three of them remained the eldest Malfoy removed his mask; he bowed once again.
"Lucius, I wish for you to acquire a few items for my new pet here," Harry growled lightly at the name but Voldemort merely chucked, "a collar and leash should do, for now, don't want him running off too soon."
Dread pooled in his stomach, he had been foolish to think that Voldemort would just simply give him a potion.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Make it green, engrave one of the tags with my little pet's name Wolf, I don't think Harry suits him anymore," Voldemort smirked. Harry's eyes widened, not once during the meeting had Voldemort even indicated to his followers who he was, he knew that they had been curious enough. However, if Lucius was surprised, he did not show it, he bowed once more and once he was dismissed he too disappeared with a crack.
The Dark Lord now had his wand pointed at Harry, "Let's see what you have to say for yourself."
Thank you for reading!
I hope you enjoyed the story so far, a little different from the original story.
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See you in the next chapter!