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)

19. Chapter 19: Rise of the Moon

Rated T

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

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

Chapter 19: The Rise of the Moon

The various clocks in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts chimed six, hooting and dinging and whistling cheerfully as preset alarms alerted Albus Dumbledore of the time. The old man made a slight movement with his hand and the clocks fell silent. Over a week had passed since he had done what was necessary to keep Harry Potter safe. Tonight was the night he returned to Privet Drive. He sighed and turned his attention back to the paperwork he needed to finish before he left. Having encouraged Minerva to take her vacation early, Albus was left with the end-of-year filing to do with the Ministry, not to mention his various other responsibilities.

He wished he knew what was keeping Remus Lupin. Albus needed him, and of course, Harry needed him tonight, especially. But even the owls which the Headmaster had sent had been returned, their letters unopened. Strangely enough, the Werewolf seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. Dumbledore's sources at the Ministry had informed him that Lupin had briefly stopped by the Auror department to visit Severusabout ten days ago, but he apparently did nothing more than that, except come to Hogwarts to fetch some busywork for his Potions Master.

Albus was aware of the resentful feelings Severus Snape now harboured toward him. But though he was grieved at the stubborn man's conviction, he was also pleased, in a twisted way. Snape's greatest strength was his profound loyalty, when convinced of course. All that the Headmaster needed to do to regain Severus' loyalty was convince him of his point of view. It was regrettable, Albus Dumbledore reflected sadly, how few people appreciated his far-reaching wisdom. It was certainly not easy, being in such a position, forced to make such terrible decisions. There was no one in whom the Headmaster could confide, no one of whom he could seek council. It was terribly lonely, being so wise and experienced. The war would have made corpses of them all, if it were not for his foresight and some very difficult decisions. For the sake of the lives he saved, the way of life he had preserved, and the uneasy peace that now reigned, Albus Dumbledore would make such choices again in a heartbeat.

Albus knew and appreciated that Harry was a precious child. Severus Snape needed to understand that. But Harry was not an ordinary boy. He was the Boy-Who-Lived! The child was destined to bring about lasting peace and a definitive end to the Dark Lord Voldemort. One could not let a chosen child like that have an ordinary childhood. He needed to be a champion, forged in fire, taught the harsh realities of life. The boy needed to be taught to rely on his own strength, to survive despite the odds, to fight on in the midst of pain. What better place to learn such lessons than at the knee of muggles who wouldn't flinch at physical reprimands, who would attempt to break his spirit and instead would strengthen him for the trials ahead? Severus would simply need to understand that Albus Dumbledore was just saving the boy pain, in the end. It was best if Harry learned such harsh lessons sooner rather than later, and not at the hands of the magical world. No, it would not do to alienate the boy from the world he was destined to save. The Dark Lord would certainly not wait until the child was mature to attempt his return. He would not wait until the boy was ready to face him on his own two feet. No, Voldemort would strike when the child was in range and vulnerable. Likely, the servants of the Dark Lord would wait until the boy was eleven and attending Hogwarts for the first time. He knew that if he were a Death Eater, that would be the safest time to strike. For now, very few people knew where Harry J. Potter was. Dumbledore would very much prefer to keep it that way.

Of course, the Boy-Who-Lived being turned into a Werewolf was a very unfortunate fly in the ointment, as it were. But Albus Dumbledore could work with this too. Werewolves were notoriously hard to kill and just about impervious to normal pain. Was this perhaps The Power That the Dark Lord Knows Not? Albus nodded solemnly in response to his thoughts. No one had guessed that the Prophecy could have been fulfilled this way, but to Albus Dumbledore, it made perfect sense. Although the child would suffer greatly in the coming years, it was really all working out for the best. Harry would grow up that much faster, and would gain a higher threshold for the pain and suffering he would eventually face as Voldemort's rival and number one foe.

Severus Snape's strange new attitude toward the child was an unforeseen complication. Dumbledore had hoped to slowly cultivate a relationship between the Potions Master and the Boy-Who-Lived when the time came. He had planned for many long and painful conversations, struggling to bring Severus past the rage and hurt of a years-long grudge so he could eventually become Harry's ally and teacher, a stern and strong mentor in all the ways Albus Dumbledore would be unable to provide. He had not expected for them to fall so completely for each other so quickly. Snape was a loyal man, first and foremost, but his highest loyalties were to his own conscience and his own moral code, which Albus could humbly admit was higher than his own. Severus was a seeker of truth, and of course he would investigate everything most thoroughly, even that which pertained to the Potter boy. Despite any dislike or even hatred he may have fostered for Harry's father, Severus Snape would still refuse to see the child hurt for any reason.

Albus's old heart swelled with pride at his boy's good heart, even though it ached with grief at the new rift in their relationship. He had not foreseen battling Severus for this. He had not foreseen the fierce bond which had formed so swiftly between the man and the boy at the expense of the closeness he had once shared with Severus. But he did not begrudge his boy the newfound loyalty, even as his heart broke with grief. Severus may be loyal, but his trust, once shattered, was close to impossible to regain. The Potions Professor might never fully trust him again. It grieved the old man greatly to know that his boy was alone once again, without a trusted mentor or friend to confide in, but he was also proud to see Severus stepping beyond his past and giving his heart to another human being again. It would be good for both Severus and Harry to continue to grow in their relationship, Albus decided.

It might take some time for Severus to calm down and understand the necessity of the blood wards, of course, but he would eventually, Albus knew. Severus would eventually find that it was for the best and that the best thing he could do for Harry was to be a support, a mentor, and a pillar of stability for the boy in the magical world.

The child would truly need a firm and trustworthy mentor in the trying years ahead, since Remus Lupin saw fit to remain Missing in Action.

It was rather annoying, the Headmaster sighed. But Severus had been correct in his earliest assessment. The Werewolf was unreliable, especially if guilt was added to the mix. He had quickly deduced that Lupin was the one who had bitten Harry, unfortunately. Albus thought it rather obvious when one looked objectively at all the clues. But it would be for the best if no one learned the truth. Severus especially must remain ignorant. If the Potions Professor had threatened to fight Dumbledore himself over simply sending the boy back to his relatives where he belonged, Severus Snape would murder Lupin if he found out the Remus likely would be absolutely devastated, even to the point that he would likely turn himself over to the Ministry in his guilt. If they found out what he had done, the Werewolf would be locked in Azkaban for good this time.

Albus puzzled over the Werewolf's most recent silence. Had Remus discovered his Wolf's deed somehow? Was that why the man refused his mail and remained missing? Was he hiding, as he usually did when things became too overwhelming? Remus was a good man, with one of the straightest moral compasses he had ever encountered, but he was not a strong or assertive man by any means. If he would simply embrace his Wolf a bit more, perhaps some of those needed Alpha traits would trickle through. Severus was the stronger of the two men, in most ways. It was unfortunate, the Headmaster mused, that Snape was not the Werewolf. Harry could have greatly benefitted from having an Alpha like him.

But then Black had to escape Azkaban and upset the delicately balanced applecart.

As if Dumbledore didn't have enough to deal with, now Sirius Black was loose and likely insane, even if he wasn't bent on murdering the Boy-Who-Lived. It was dreadfully frustrating, especially because it meant that Harry had been sent back to his relatives before he could finish talking Severus into it himself. The muggles were not ideal, certainly, but Petunia's blood protected the child better than any other wards available. Black would not be able to touch Harry or even find him, whatever his motives. Harry could not be safer from dark magic and the temptations of unearned fame.

If Severus really wanted to, he could visit the child every now and then, so long as he didn't annoy Petunia too much. In fact, Dumbledore might have a word with her himself to talk about her deplorable behavior in getting Severus into so much trouble. He might be able to make it so Harry had more access to the Professor throughout the months, instead of just during the Full Moon when he would need to be fetched and placed in the Shrieking Shack.

It was another inconvenience when Petunia Dursley had rightly deduced that Snape had visited her family and used magic on them. Albus did not think Severus would go to Azkaban over it, but unfortunately, the clever woman had caused far more trouble than she had dreamed she could. Albus could not defend Severus as much as he otherwise could because of his work for the rights of muggles in the Wizengamot and elsewhere, and if he did not uphold a muggle family's rights when it came to his own employees, where would all of his hard work go? He was forced into a corner, advocating for Severus' innocent motives, rather than his innocence, because of his position as a champion of muggles and the muggleborn.

Severus Snape had been given several hearings and a brief trial in the past ten days, and it ended with the man simply pledging a fine so he could go free tomorrow, rather than begging for a more thorough investigation and being released on parole. Albus was relieved that the Potions Master was not making a fuss about it. If Severus had decided to throw a wrench in the works and reveal his suspicions about the Dursleys, Harry Potter, and the Headmaster himself, things could have gotten quite mixed up. But Severus was sensible, and he knew better than to give Harry over to the wolves of the Ministry like that. The Potions Master was above such petty, short-ranging revenge. No, what Albus would have to watch for would be subtle and effective. He would have to start checking his tea for poison and ordering the House Elves to be on their guard, the Headmaster thought half-jokingly.

Yes, Albus was only half-joking.

Severus Snape had betrayed one master because the woman he loved was in danger. How much would it take for the man to betray a second master because he believed that the child he loved was also in danger? Albus hated playing these games of moves and countermoves, but someone had to do it. He trusted Severus to be sensible and honorable about this. But it didn't hurt to have precautions in place. If worst came to worst, a simple reset in the form of an Obliviate would set Severus back to where he had been before he stumbled over Harry's body in Little Whinging. There would be remnants of his feelings, of course, but Severus would not understand them, nor would he suspect the significance of the few thoughts and emotions that could not be completely erased. It was not quite ideal, but to prevent the man from making a terrible mistake, Albus was ready to do it.

After all, it wouldn't be the first time he had meddled with Severus Snape's memories.

With that cheerful thought, Albus Dumbledore set aside his work so he could finish it tomorrow and left his office, heading for the edge of the wards of Hogwarts. He was apparating today. It would not do for Mrs. Figg to wonder why the Headmaster needed to fetch Harry on a Full Moon. Obliviations were not his favorite way to cover things up, after all.

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Tonight the moon'll be full, Harry thought to himself anxiously, even as he wondered how in the world he knew that with such certainty. He felt antsy and achy. He couldn't sit still, but he was also dead tired and there was a gnawing pit in his empty belly. He was running off energy he didn't have. Since the awful episode last week when his Wolf found him and his Uncle had punished him, he had healed pretty well. While he was glad he healed so quickly now, the extra energy he had expended healing himself had left him ravenous and dizzy with hunger. His Aunt gave him a slice of bread every now and then, but he was craving meat with an intensity he had never before experienced. Tonight, cooking steaks for his relatives had almost made him faint. Though he didn't pass out, he did have to wipe his mouth on his sleeve several times to keep from drooling like an animal. It was a terrible relief that his Uncle had cleared up all the steak and there weren't any leftovers. Harry knew that he wouldn't have been able to control himself if Aunt Petunia had ordered him to scrape the plates into the trash and there was still meat on them.

The sound of the telly playing the evening news in the sitting room assured Harry that he would not be disturbed for a few minutes at least, but he was careful and quiet, slowly wiping down the sink and neatly hanging up the dish towels. He listened to the murmur of his Aunt and Uncle's voices as they commented on tonight's news broadcast. For the past eight or nine days or so, they'd been whispering about the crazy person that had escaped from prison almost three weeks ago now. Harry had caught a glimpse of the man's face on the telly once, and he had been rather shocked that it was the same exact man from the Professor's magic newspaper. The wild black hair and beard were the same, and so was the name: Black.

The only thing that wasn't the same was that the picture that had been displayed on the telly wasn't moving, like the picture in the magic newspaper had been. But the thought that the magical criminal was now on the regular news seemed to make it more real. Harry felt strangely trapped by the new knowledge, although it really did nothing to change his awful situation. He supposed if he had anything to be grateful for, at least the Werewolf had not returned. But Snuffles was gone too. Uncle Vernon insisted he had shot the dog, but the police had not been able to find any trace of it when they came and fined his uncle for firing a gun in a residential area. Of course, Harry got beaten again for that, and even worse, Aunt Petunia thought the dog wasn't even real, that Harry had somehow made it with his Freakishness. He had the fresh burns on his arms and stomach to attest to what his Aunt and Uncle thought of his denials. But Harry knew that Snuffles was real, and he dearly hoped the dog had not crept off to a ditch somewhere to die. He had already lost his Professor and the safety of the man's rickety little house. The thought of losing his stray dog-friend too was almost more than he could bear.

Harry turned off the kitchen lights and pressed a hand to his aching belly as it let out a long, hungry gurgle, wincing at the throb in his healing burns. Once his grumbling stomach was quiet, he trudged upstairs to clean the bathroom before locking himself in his cupboard. Apparently, he hadn't cleaned the tub properly yesterday and Aunt Petunia punished him for it by withholding his slice of bread for today. Halfway up the stairs, Harry somehow ended up on his hands and knees, fighting a wave of dizziness and pain that raged in his head and washed suddenly through his entire body. Once he overcame the nauseous flipping in his stomach, Harry crawled up the rest of the stairs and into the bathroom. But once he got there, he ran out of strength. Leaning against the rubbish can in the corner, Harry curled up and tucked his head between his knees. He was trembling with weakness and hunger, and fighting the urge to run. He wanted to run out of the house and not come back. The roaring pain that had been pulsing under his skin suddenly came back, and then was gone in a flash, leaving him feeling like his insides had all been roasted and then twisted violently while they were still raw and throbbing. His bones ached and his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. A few tears of pain and hopelessness escaped from Harry's eyes and dripped down his face.

His sharp ears caught the sound of his cousin's heavy footsteps approaching and his highly sensitive nose caught the tantalizing scent of roast beef, cheese, and bread. Dudley had likely gone downstairs for a snack and brought it up so he could play his computer games while he ate. His appetite had come back in the past week, at least. Harry still didn't know what to make of his cousin, who was ignoring him and only half-heartedly pushing him around if he had to. Harry staggered upright and tried to look busy in case his cousin peeked in on him, but his vision was blurring in and out and he couldn't focus. He fell against the wall, too dizzy to go look under the sink for cleaning supplies. He hated feeling so sick and helpless. More silent tears dripped down his face and he slumped back to sit on the floor, shutting his eyes and fighting not to pass out or throw up.

"H-Harry?" a soft whisper startled him. Harry gasped and jerked violently, staring fearfully up at his cousin. Dudley was crouching in front of him, gazing at him with a strange expression on his round face. Dudley stared at him for another few seconds before he straightened up and carefully closed the bathroom door. He locked it and flipped the switch for the light and the fan. The motor's sound filled the little space and Harry bit his lip and braced himself. Whatever his cousin was going to do with him now couldn't be good.

To his utter shock, Dudley held out a napkin wrapped around a thick roast beef sandwich. Mustard was oozing out of one side and the whole thing looked like what Dudley liked to slap together when he was feeling peckish. Harry knew better than to reach out and accept the food. He stared fearfully at his cousin, but he couldn't stop his eyes from darting longingly to the sandwich in his cousin's pudgy hands. Dudley actually looked uncomfortable, and a little scared.

"Um, here," Dudley whispered, stepping closer and crouching back down in front of Harry. The smaller boy shrank back, trembling with fear and hunger. His mouth was watering at the scent of the sandwich that the larger boy was practically shoving in his mouth and he whimpered with the effort not to snatch it. "C'mon; eat it, okay?" Dudley whispered with a bit of a whine in his voice. "I swear I'm not tryin' to trick you. Mum an' Dad don't know, alright? Just hurry up an' eat it before they see."

Harry blinked in shock at the strange words, but his instincts took over. He automatically raised his hands to take the food and shoved a big bite in his mouth, groaning softly as the flavor exploded in his mouth. Dudley let go and sat back, leaning against the sink and watching him wolf down the food with wide eyes. Harry watched his cousin warily as he gobbled down the sandwich, but Dudley just sat there and watched him just as warily. Harry finished the food in a few minutes, and he even sucked the last of the mustard from the napkin. He let out a relieved sigh that was almost a sob. He felt a little better now and his stomach gurgled again, but not from hunger.

"Th-thank you," Harry whispered faintly. He didn't know if his cousin could hear him over the noise that the bathroom fan was making.

Dudley smiled faintly and nodded in acknowledgement. "Um, you still hungry?" he asked in a tiny, scared little voice. "I could get you more, if you need …"

"N-no, thanks," Harry stammered. He was still feeling dizzy, but his stomach had stopped screaming at him, so he didn't feel the need for more food right now. Why was Dudley doing this? If Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon found out, they would say Dudley was sick, or that Harry did something Freakish to him. He trembled all over in fear. Maybe he had done something by accident. "What are you doing?" he asked softly, dreading the answer. He didn't know what to make of his cousin right now.

Dudley looked down at the floor and started to fidget. He finally looked up, his blue eyes looking strangely scared. "Mum an' Dad don't remember," he whispered, his voice shaking just a bit. "The scary chap did something … freaky, to them an' they don't remember. But he didn't do the freaky thing to me and I remember everything."

Harry blinked and frowned. His cousin wasn't making any sense.

"It happened a few days after … after you … after the dog … the wolf, I mean …" Dudley trailed off helplessly and started to pick at a loose thread on his loose trousers.

"It was a w-wolf," Harry supplied helpfully. His mind raced. Had the Professor come and visited the Dursleys at some point? Aunt Petunia seemed to think so, and now Dudley said that a 'scary chap' had done something 'freaky' to his parents, but not to him. Scary was a good word for the Professor, until you got to know him, of course.

"Um, yeah," Dudley mumbled, still refusing to look up. "The scary guy came while we were eating … said he found you. He said … said you almost … died."

"The Professor," Harry breathed, closing his eyes and feeling a pang of something in his chest. He couldn't define the emotion. Was he thrilled that the Professor had come to his relatives to settle something? Was he humiliated? Or was he feeling something like disappointment, knowing for certain that his Professor knew where he was now, and hadn't come to see him?

Dudley shrugged. "Didn't look like a teacher t'me," he muttered. "He looked like a vampire."

Harry giggled softly, not expecting his cousin to say something like that. "He's actually nice," the smaller boy replied softly. "He gave me medicine and stuff."

Dudley nodded, but didn't look up. "I didn't know," the large boy murmured. "I didn't know we were … bad … to you. I always thought you were the bad one."

The pudgy boy looked up and Harry was startled to see that his cousin's pale blue eyes were suspiciously wet-looking. Dudley sniffled suddenly and a fat tear rolled down his cheek. It was followed quickly by a few more and Harry was so surprised he couldn't even move. He could feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. It had been odd to think that the Professor could be crying over him, but it was a thousand times worse to see his cousin crying because of him. Sure, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were beastly to him, but only the Professor had ever told him how bad they were. To see Dudley openly admitting that his family was being cruel, and crying about it, was simply overwhelming. Harry wasn't sure what to do. He hesitantly leaned forward and touched Dudley's knee.

"Hey …" Harry whispered thickly. "Hey, don't cry," he whispered, patting his cousin gently. The small gesture broke the other boy completely, and Dudley started to cry in earnest, though he made an effort to be quiet. It wouldn't do for his parents to hear him and punish Harry for it, and Harry was grateful for his cousin's efforts.

"H-he said I w-was a b-bully and h-he w-wanted to make me hur-hurt the way I hurt y-you," Dudley sobbed, covering his face. "B-but he s-said I was j-just a s-stupid ch-child an' I d-didn't know any b-better. So … so he s-said he wouldn't t-take my memories … th-that way I'd r-remember and m-maybe stop being m-mean."

Harry didn't know what to do or say in response to that. He didn't even know what to think. So … the Professor had come and told off the Dursleys, and then erased his Aunt and Uncle's memories of the event, but not Dudley's? But Aunt Petunia seemed to remember it anyway. Maybe magic didn't work on her and that's why she always knew when he did something freaky.

But Dudley had just as good as apologized for always hurting him and chasing him. Harry didn't know how it made him feel. On the one hand, he wondered why his cousin had never known before that it was so bad and it made him a little mad, but on the other, he just felt uncomfortable with his cousin saying sorry to him, of all people. He knew he didn't deserve it and it made him squirm. So he didn't say anything. He just scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Dudley as he rested his head gingerly on his cousin's meaty shoulder.

"It's okay, Dudley," Harry whispered, patting the bigger boy awkwardly, trying to remember how the Professor made him feel better when he was crying and scared.

"I don't wanna be a bad bully," Dudley whimpered fearfully. "The scary guy said I was gonna turn into a criminal. I don't wanna go to jail."

"You won't," Harry assured his cousin, hugging him a little tighter. "You won't, and it'll be okay."

"But M-Mum and D-Dad," Dudley moaned, sobbing a few more times. "The scary guy s-said he'd c-come b-back."

Harry stiffened at that. The Professor would come back! He had promised he would! He wanted to cry with sheer relief and happiness. He hugged Dudley tighter and let him go, unable to keep his smile off his face.

"It'll be okay, Dudley," he said confidently. "I'll make sure the Professor doesn't hurt them."

Dudley glanced up mournfully. His face was blotchy and damp from crying, and his nose was running. "But my mum an' dad still keep being mean to you," he mumbled. "I'm not trying to be, I promise! But what if the scary guy comes back and does something bad to us?"

Harry wanted to laugh. "He looks real scary, but he's really nice," he explained. "He just doesn't like to see kids get hurt. See, he's a teacher at a school, and he got really upset at himself this one time when he spanked me for lying to him. So, he's just nice. But I'm pretty sure if I ask him, he'll leave your Mum and Dad alone."

But Harry's heart suddenly sank into his feet as something Aunt Petunia had said to him last week came back to his mind. She had said she had reported the Professor somehow, and got him put in jail. Was it illegal for wizards to erase people's memories? Was the Professor in big trouble for trying to protect him from the Dursleys? His former giddiness bled away, leaving him feeling sick with dread.

"Harry?" Dudley suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "Are you really sick or something? 'Cause you've looked different since you came back."

Harry shook himself and shivered as he fell back into reality. His earlier happiness was gone, replaced by cold fear. He was still trapped with the Dursleys, the Professor might never come, and there was a Werewolf and a crazy man escaped from prison both out to kill him. Nothing was different, besides knowing that Dudley didn't want to beat him up for fun anymore. He supposed that was something.

"I'm … well, yeah, I'm kind of sick," Harry admitted, remembering what the Professor had told him before, but also remembering what the Headmaster had said about not telling anyone that he was a Werewolf. "I got bit by the wolf and it sort of … poisoned me. Tonight …" Harry shivered. "Well … I don't know what'll happen tonight. I don't feel good."

It was true, he felt sick and tired, yet he still felt restless. He needed to move, to pace or run or something. Another pulse of agonizing pain suddenly assaulted him, rushing through his body and scorching his innards like fire before it passed, leaving him curled up on the floor, gasping and struggling not to scream.

"Harry?" Dudley was hissing in his ear. "I hear Mum coming up!"

Harry whimpered pathetically, but he couldn't get up. It was just as well, because Aunt Petunia banged on the door, demanding if the 'boy' was in there. Dudley silently unlocked the door and she opened it. Apparently, seeing Harry curled up and whimpering on the floor with her son standing over him was satisfying enough that Aunt Petunia simply grumbled and dragged Harry to his feet, ignoring Dudley completely.

Harry gulped down his tears and allowed his Aunt to drag him over to Dudley's extra bedroom. It was a narrow, shabby room crowded with old toys and furniture, and looked more like a storage closet than a bedroom. Sitting on Dudley's old bedframe was the duffel bag Harry had brought with him when the Headmaster brought him back. The boy stopped in confusion, wondering why his Aunt had not yet taken the clothes to the Salvation Army like she said she would.

"Dumbledore's downstairs," Aunt Petunia stated flatly before Harry could say anything. "Change into something decent because he said he has to take you for tonight."

Harry's heart thumped painfully against his ribs and he stumbled forward as his Aunt shoved him in the back. He had hoped that he wouldn't be forgotten during this night of the Full Moon. He feared what he would become. But he did not like or trust the old man. However, he knew there was no point in arguing. He obeyed, changing out of the too-large cast-offs of Dudley's, and into the better fitting clothing that the Professor had bought him. Being back in the much more comfortable clothes almost made tears come into the boy's eyes as he thought of the Professor. His heart ached fiercely with longing and he wondered if he would ever see the Professor again.

He was finished changing in a few seconds, and his Aunt grabbed his arm to drag him downstairs. Sure enough, the old man himself was waiting downstairs. Uncle Vernon stood in the door of the sitting room, his posture making him look both nervous and angry, but he stood silently, listening to the Headmaster's chatter. Harry didn't know what the old man was babbling on about, but Uncle Vernon's expression was both bewildered and annoyed.

"Ah, Petunia!" Dumbledore cried out cheerfully, his blue eyes twinkling kindly. "And Harry, dear boy! I hope you are ready to go."

Harry gulped and nodded silently. He had forgotten to grab the trainers that the Professor had bought him, and he would have to wear the tattered hand-me-down shoes from Dudley.

"Excellent!" the old man smiled. He turned to the front door, his strange-colored suit flashing as he moved. It was almost physically painful to look at, and Harry thought that the green and yellow colors were shifting and moving over the trousers and jacket. It was very disorienting and he tore his eyes away from them as he hurried to grab his shoes from the cupboard.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said nothing as the Headmaster took Harry's hand and opened the front door. They stood still and silent and didn't even acknowledge the old man's cheerful farewell. Glancing back, Harry saw his cousin on the stairs, leaning on the bannister and watching him leave with a strangely solemn expression on his face. Harry managed a tiny smile, but he didn't dare wave good-bye. It would be best if Dudley's parents didn't know about their little truce. The door of number 4, Privet Drive closed behind him, and Harry shivered as he looked up at the old man. Dumbledore smiled kindly down at him.

"Shall we?" he said cheerfully, his eyes twinkling.

Harry looked deliberately away from the man's probing blue eyes and he heard the Headmaster sigh softly. Harry felt a twinge of unease, since he had obviously made the man unhappy, but he couldn't bring himself to pretend to have anything to do with this old man. Dumbledore had brought him back to the Dursleys even after the Professor promised he would never be sent back. He wasn't sure he was angry with the Headmaster for doing it, since Harry knew that he deserved what his relatives gave him. But he was frightened by the old man who had complete power over him, and he had power over the Professor too, which was a terrifying thought.

He let the old Headmaster pull him gently along, but Harry kept his eyes on the concrete sidewalk. He was tired and achy and irritable, and his head hurt, but it felt good to stretch his legs right now. He almost didn't care where the Headmaster was taking him, just so long as it was away from here. On impulse, Harry looked up and searched the twilit sky for the moon. It had not risen yet, and the boy let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Moonrise won't be until about seven-thirty," the old man suddenly said, startling Harry. The boy looked up at the Headmaster, but he didn't trust the look of concern and kind attention that the old man gave him. He didn't know if it was real. The child focused his gaze back on his ratty shoes and shrugged his shoulders. Dumbledore didn't sigh again, but he gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. After several minutes of walking, Harry raised his head in apprehension as the old man tugged him into an alley on a street he had never seen before. Stepping behind a large garbage bin, the old Headmaster waved his hand and his brightly coloured suit shifted into a long robe, but the garish colour scheme stayed the same. Harry grimaced and looked around, feeling a little scared.

"Don't be afraid, my boy," the Headmaster said gently, opening his arms to Harry and tugging him a little nearer. "Come closer. We are going to apparate to Hogwarts and you'll need to hang on."

Harry was confused. They weren't just going to jump through the fireplace? But before he could ask what 'apparate' was, the old man pulled him into a tight hug, burying Harry's face in soft, billowing cloth that smelled like lemons and tea. He was suddenly being squeezed through a narrow tube, and being wrenched in a thousand different directions at once. He couldn't even breathe, much less struggle free, and panic roared inside him like a beast. Just when he thought he was going to die, he was free and he jerked violently away from the old man, gasping and crying and retching as he fell on his hands and knees in a dirt road. He was incoherent and terrified, but Dumbledore pulled him close again and soothed him. Harry was too shaken to pull away, and he let the old man rock him and pat his hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you," the Headmaster apologized softly. "I thought Professor Snape might have apparated with you at some point. But he didn't, did he?"

Harry shook his head in answer, scrubbing away the tears on his face and hating himself for breaking down like that. He had experienced something like that once before, when he jumped on top of the school last month before the whole wolf incident. The squeezing sensation, like being sucked through a vacuum, wasn't something he forgot easily. But how could anybody stand magic like that? Dumbledore asked him if he was alright, and Harry nodded, taking deep breaths and wincing at the way his body was throbbing now.

The old man finally straightened up briskly and took the boy's hand again. Harry got to his feet, shaking a little. He looked up, shocked at his surroundings. The alley was gone, and they were standing on a wide dirt road. There were craggy hills surrounding them, a neat village down in a valley, and the huge castle of the magic school loomed over them. They were standing right outside the gates. For several seconds, he gaped, looking all around.

"Apparition is a common way for wizards to travel," the Headmaster informed him. "It allows us to cover some distance instantaneously."

Harry looked up at the old man, still too shocked to be shy. "We jumped?" he whispered. "How … how far …?"

"Hogwarts is in Scotland," the old Headmaster chuckled, squeezing his hand gently. "It is beautiful country here, is it not?"

Harry nodded dumbly. It was getting dark quickly, but he could see that it was very beautiful here. He hadn't seen much of it in the times he had come here with the Professor. Just thinking about him made Harry's wonder fade and his sad, frightened mood came back.

"Well," Dumbledore sighed, obviously seeing Harry's face falling. "I suppose we mustn't waste any more time. Are you well enough to walk now?"

The child wearily allowed the Headmaster to pull him along through the gates of the school and across the grassy grounds. They passed the lake, which looked like a dark blue mirror in the faint light that still remained after sunset. Harry watched the approaching line of trees warily. They were thick and dark, and the Professor had told him that they were called the Forbidden Forest, which sounded kind of scary. But the Headmaster was not making for the woods. Instead, Dumbledore led him toward a big old willow tree, which was moving despite there not even being a breeze. Harry watched the obviously magical tree with wariness, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling at the sight of the dangerous-looking branches.

But when they got close, the old man pointed his stick and a red light shot out of it. It hit the tree's trunk and the willow froze. Harry gaped and stared up at the old man, who turned to look down at him, blue eyes sparkling like mad.

"This tree is called the Whomping Willow," Dumbledore explained with a bright smile. "There is a tunnel under the tree that will lead us to where you will spend the Full Moon tonight. Are you ready?"

Harry shrugged helplessly. It didn't matter if he was ready or not, he knew that. A tunnel sounded scary, but kind of exciting. How many boys got to actually see a real, secret tunnel? He followed the Headmaster without protest to the gnarled old tree trunk and silently stepped down into the tunnel once the secret door was revealed. It was dark and earthy, but not too small. In fact, for a tiny eight year old, it was quite roomy. It was not very frightening once the Headmaster lit his wand and held it out before them like a torch. The steady white light lit up the empty tunnel and Harry stepped forward hesitantly.

"Just keep going straight, Harry," Dumbledore ordered him. "There is nothing to fear."

Harry followed the mostly straight tunnel until it finally came out in a shabby, dusty room with overturned furniture and boarded up windows that looked as if it had been abandoned for years. He stood there, looking around the dark, gloomy room, fighting the panic that clawed up in his chest. This was an awful place. It looked like a haunted house.

"Well, here we are!" Dumbledore said cheerfully as he stepped in behind Harry, brushed dirt off his robes. "Welcome to the Shrieking Shack."

Harry shivered and hugged himself as his frightened gaze jumped all over the gloomy, filthy room. The creepy house even had a creepy name.

"You'll be quite safe here, Harry," the Headmaster went on, flicking his wand and sending balls of light into a couple of lamps high up on the wall above the small stone fireplace. It helped a little, but everything was still dusty and messy. "This place was built to contain a Werewolf on the nights of the Full Moon, and you won't hurt anyone here. Hmm, it is quite dusty, is it not?"

Harry sneezed as a wind picked up, dusting everything off and righting the fallen furniture. Most of it was scored with deep marks like teeth and claws, and Harry shivered as he ran his fingers over a deep gash along the back of a chair. The room looked a little better, and Dumbledore stepped toward the fireplace. Harry watched as the man magicked a little fire in the grate. The Headmaster assured him with a twinkle in his eye that the bluebell flames would not burn him. They were only a source of light and some slight warmth.

Harry stared into the flickering blue fire and instinctively crouched down, holding out his hands to the warmth. He relaxed a bit. The bright blue flames were mesmerizingly beautiful.

"Harry, how much did Severus tell you about Werewolves?" The old man's voice startled Harry, but he froze in his surprise, trained as he was to stay put and take his punishments. His body quaked nervously and he looked up at the old man's blue eyes, trying the gauge whether he had something to fear or not.

"N-not m-much, sir," Harry finally whispered, clenching his hands into fists to hide how they began to tremble.

The headmaster carefully took Harry by the shoulder and helped him to his feet, and guided him to sit in one of the shabby chairs in front of the fireplace. "Well, I suppose I should see how much I can tell you," Dumbledore said gently.

Harry nodded, but he felt confused and scared and he trembled slightly as he sat down. He tucked his hands under his legs to keep them from shaking.

The old man sat down across from Harry and smiled kindly at him, his blue eyes twinkling softly. "Tonight is the Full Moon, Harry," he began. "The curse of the Werewolf is linked to the phases of the moon, as I'm sure you have discovered. Tonight, when the moon rises, full and at its highest strength, the poison in your blood will react. Your body will shift and change into that of a wolf. You will not remember anything afterwards, until you transform back into a human when the first rays of the sunrise. When you are human again, I will come back and fetch you and Madam Pomfrey will check you over before I take you back home, alright?"

Harry's heart was pounding so hard he feared the Headmaster could hear it. With his heightened hearing, he could certainly hear the rapid thumping of his heartbeat. "A-are you g-going to leave me a-alone?" he squeaked. His body shook uncontrollably and he covered his face with his hands, struggling to keep himself together. He suddenly felt a powerful longing for Snuffles and the emotion pushed him over the edge. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and through his fingers.

"Did Professor Snape tell you about the danger?" the old headmaster asked quietly. "You will not be in your right mind after the transformation, and a Werewolf, even a young one, is very dangerous. I don't think you want to hurt anyone, do you?"

Harry shook his head vehemently, but he kept his hands over his face.

"Harry, you will be fine," the old man said soothingly. "You will be quite safe here, and I promise you won't remember any of it. Dawn will come quicker than you think."

Harry swallowed hard, but a shuddering sob still escaped him. He hunched smaller and dug his nails into his face, letting the slight pain ground him and keep him from screaming or running. He had to keep himself together; he couldn't let the Headmaster see how broken he was. It was bad enough that the Professor had to hold him all the time and dry his tears and calm him down. He wanted his Professor so badly. But the Headmaster was probably right. He didn't want to hurt anyone tonight. He could feel something painful and dark coiling under his skin; stretching, aching, obsessively watching the moon.

Dumbledore suddenly stood up. Harry flinched back and pulled his hands away from his face, convulsively swallowing his tears, but not able to banish them completely.

"W-will it hurt?" Harry whispered faintly, fearing what he instinctively knew would be the answer.

The old man smiled compassionately down at him and reached out, ignoring Harry's flinch, to squeeze his shoulder gently. "You are a strong boy, Harry," he said, not quite answering the boy question. "You'll be fine. I know you are very brave, and Madam Pomfrey will fix you up in the morning as good as new!"

"So … it'll hurt," Harry muttered, feeling a surge of irritation at the non-answer. He hunched his shoulders, itching to push the old man's hand off his shoulder.

Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but the little boy only felt more nervous and shrank away from the touch. The old man pulled two brightly coloured pocket-handkerchiefs out of his robes and pointed his wand at them. Before Harry's eyes, they shifted and tangled together, suddenly becoming a robe just his size. It was like the one the Headmaster wore, even in its garish yellow and green colour scheme. He handed the new garment to Harry, and the boy could only gape at it. The fabric still felt like the thin cloth of a hankie, and it smelled strongly of the Headmaster. To Harry's overly sensitive nose, the lemony scent had increased tenfold since he had been pulled into the old man's robes. It was nauseatingly strong and he coughed as his eyes watered, but he managed to get himself back under control.

"You should change into this before the moon rises, Harry," Dumbledore informed him in a gentle voice. "The transformation will shred your clothing beyond repair."

Harry looked up at the old man, feeling suddenly exhausted and too old. He was only eight years old! He couldn't comprehend this. All he could do was nod obediently. He fiercely wished for the stupid old man to go away so he could scream and cry without any fear of his relatives hearing him. This old house had to be good for something, right?

"I'll leave you now, then," the Headmaster sighed. He turned in a swirl of colourful robes and a scent of lemons, but turned one last time before he reached the door to the tunnel. "I'll see you in the morning, Harry."

Then he was gone, and Harry was finally alone.

The boy took a deep breath and took another look around the gloomy, shabby room where he was condemned to stay until tomorrow. It wasn't so bad, he decided. Being alone was alright, and at least there was nobody here to hit him or call him names. He would be fine. Maybe he could explore a little bit and maybe find something interesting to distract himself from the ache steadily building in his bones.

Taking heart, Harry decided to do just that before the moon rose. He put the thin robe down on his chair and moved around, touching the scarred furniture and trying to peek out of the boarded up windows. But any gaps between the boards were too high for him to reach. Faint slivers of light from the fading sunset slipped through, but they were fading fast. Soon, silvery moonlight would peek in, and Harry shuddered as his body thrummed painfully at the thought. Hugging himself despondently, he left the windows and wandered elsewhere. He saw a staircase around the corner and moved cautiously toward it, watching the shadows fearfully in case something jumped out at him. The whole house was so messy and creepy, but Harry suddenly felt sorry for it. There were piles of dust and dirt all over the shelves and furniture, old cobwebs in every corner, mouse or rat droppings along the walls, and broken or ruined things everywhere he looked. The house looked like how he felt; filthy, unwanted, neglected. He wondered if the Headmaster would let him bring cleaning stuff here some other time. He would sweep and mop and polish until the house looked as good as new, because cleaning was one thing he knew how to do right.

Harry carefully climbed the creaking staircase, glancing fearfully at the deep claw marks on the banister and the steps. Would he make terrible marks like that tonight? In the morning, would there be fresh things broken, fresh scratches and marks on the furniture and walls? He shuddered and decided not to think about it. It was scary enough in this dark, creepy house without thinking about Werewolves and monsters and actually being one.

Upstairs, there was only one bare room, and it wasn't even a bedroom. There was nothing up here but two high windows, also boarded up, but more sloppily. If he backed up against the opposite wall, he could see the shadows of trees and far-off craggy hills through the big cracks. Losing interest, Harry wandered back downstairs, no longer reaching out to touch the scratched walls or gouged banister. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and wished for the stone he had picked up at the School's lake. His fingers suddenly closed on something small and cool, like metal. His heart skipped a beat as he pulled it out and squinted at it in the gloom. Even his improved eyesight didn't work too well in this hallway, which was almost pitch-black. He hurried back to the sitting room and crouched in front of the quiet blue fire, staring at the little thing in his palm. It was the flower that had been on the necklace the Professor gave him. Harry hadn't even realized that he had broken the chain when he yanked it out of his pocket to hide his things under the sofa.

He stroked the bronze metal with his finger, tracing the swooping petals of the unfamiliar plant. He had a feeling that he had seen it before, in pictures probably, but he had no idea what kind of flower it was. His Aunt planted all kinds of flowers, but definitely not this one. Why had the Professor given it to him, anyway? That morning when the man had been in such a grumpy mood, Harry had pretended to sleep while the Professor left breakfast and a snack for him on the bedside table. Suddenly, the man had flicked his wand and Harry felt the cool metal of the chain settle gently around his neck. He had frozen in surprise and fear, and once the Professor left the room, Harry sat up at once, pulling the thing out to look at it. A few minutes later, he threw the weird necklace in the drawer and ate his breakfast. What had the Professor's note said to do with it? He knew that the Professor wouldn't have given him the girly thing for no reason. In fact, Harry was pretty sure that it was somehow magic. He wished he could remember what he was supposed to do with it, but it had been so long ago; over two weeks ago now.

The child sat back and leaned against the scarred chair, stroking and rubbing the bronze charm in his fingers, thinking of his time with the Professor, not bothering to stop the lonely tears from rolling down his face. He missed his Professor so badly. The man had truly been the closest thing he had ever had to a family; one that loved him, anyway. He ought to have known it was too good to last. Whether the Professor gave him up, or the headmaster separated them, it made no difference. Harry would never see the Professor again, most likely. All the people who were nice to Harry disappeared and never came back. Maybe if Dudley was set on being decent, he might be the first to stick around, but Harry wondered how long his cousin's new attitude would last. How long until Uncle Vernon told Dudley to beat him up for a good laugh? His cousin wouldn't defy his own dad, and Harry was just the freaky little brat anyway. It's not like he would care … much. It was just the way things were.

Harry choked on a sob and angrily scrubbed the tears from his face. He was being a baby, feeling sorry for himself and dreaming about the impossible. He had a Full Moon to get ready for. Right on cue, his body spasmed with agonizing pain. The pain lasted a few seconds before fading away, leaving Harry curled up on the floor, shivering and gasping, trying not to scream. But his tears were falling faster now, and he clutched his little metal flower tightly, rubbing his thumb across its smooth, grooved surface, wishing against all wishes that the Professor were here to hold him.

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Full Moon tonight, Severus thought despondently, pacing his cell in agitation. He was so worried about Harry and frustrated about everything in general that he couldn't think coherently. The Ministry would not let him finish everything until tomorrow, meaning that Harry would be in the hands of Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin during his first Transformation. He didn't even know why he was upset about it. He knew he couldn't help the boy much anyway. Severus growled under his breath and slapped his palm against the wall of his cell in frustration at his utter helplessness. After driving his fist into the wall earlier, he wasn't keen to do that again. The burning sting in his palm was better than the agonized throbbing in the bruised knuckles of his other hand.

"Where are you tonight, little one?" Severus whispered to the gloom of his silent cell. "Are you safe? Have you found your Alpha?" Do you miss me? He added silently, selfishly. But why in the world would any child miss him? He also didn't understand why he missed Harry so much, but he was through analyzing it. Harry was just a child; a lonely, hurting, precocious child with a big heart and an innocent spirit. Potter or not, no child deserved the horrible luck that life had handed him so far. He was targeted for death when he was an infant, lost both his parents, nearly died, suffered abuse and neglect at the hands of his relatives, and got bitten by one of the most feared magical creatures in the world, infected and cursed to endure pain and rejection for the rest of his life. It wasn't fair. Yet, life rarely was. Severus knew that better than anyone.

The Potions Master sat down on his cot and sighed tiredly, glancing at the small table where his books and parchments sat. He knew he needed to calm down. He was working himself up over things that couldn't be helped, and needed to regain his focus; concentrate his scattered thoughts. He had lost sight of the true issues, or at least, the ones he could help. He needed to focus on reality.

His fine was to be paid tomorrow, first thing, and once he did that, he would be free to go. His arrest record now had muggle terrorism on it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Despite having been cleared of Death Eater charges years ago, that also was still on his record as well. There was no use in worrying about it now. There was no use in worrying about so many hypothetical things right now. He could not be with Harry or see him, but he could trust Dumbledore to make sure the boy was safe for tonight. Even if he couldn't trust the old man to keep the boy himself safe from abusive relatives, he thought bitterly, Severus knew that it would be pure idiocy to leave a new Werewolf on the loose at his first transformation. Dumbledore knew that, and so did Remus Lupin. They would take care of the boy tonight. He needed to stop fretting like a bloody mother hen.

Severus grabbed his tome on Werewolf psychology from the table and flipped it open to his bookmarked page, determined to forget about Harry, the Full Moon, and his own personal problems with the Ministry. No sooner had he done so when he froze in surprise as a burning, tingling feeling tickled his chest. He was currently wearing a light chain around his neck, ever since he had given the match to Harry as a crude communications device. The charms on the mated necklaces were connected through magic, enabling either wearer to alert the other if they needed to.

The bronze-coloured charm around Severus' neck was currently vibrating softly, and quickly growing hot against his skin. With frantic fingers, he dropped his book and jerked the necklace out of his shirt, holding it in his palm to stare at it. The round flower shape winked up at him, each if its many petals glowing faintly red as if they were burning with the channeled magical energy being transmitted to him. After a couple of minutes, the vibrating stopped, the red glow faded and the metal cooled again. Severus' heart pounded against his ribs as he wondered why his charm was alerting him. He had coded its magic for Harry alone, so no one else could be using it. He had left the necklace with Harry on the morning when the Daily Prophet reported the child missing. Harry must be rubbing it in desperation, wondering if the Professor would come to him on this terrible, lonely night. But it had stopped. Did that mean that Harry had been in some kind of danger? Or had he given up? Severus closed his hand around the flower and began to rub it between his fingers. If Harry was simply desperate for him, all he could do for the boy was send a message back, assuring him that he was alive and well … and thinking about him.

It was all Severus could do without knowing what was happening, or being able to go to Harry himself.

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Harry jumped in surprise as the little metal flower started rattling on the wooden floor. He hurried over from the other side of the room where he had left it near the fireplace. He knelt and stared at the thing as it vibrated and started to emit a soft green glow. Curiously, Harry poked the flower with his finger and was surprised to feel that it was warm, not cold. He carefully picked it up and held it in his hand, feeling the slight tickle as it trembled. He wasn't sure when he started to smile, or when he relaxed against the wall, all the tension falling out of his anxious, aching body. He carefully wrapped his thin robe around his body more tightly and clutched the vibrating charm as it grew almost warm enough to burn. It was strangely comforting, although he had no idea what it meant that his necklace-flower was acting strange. It made him feel as if he were not alone; as if the vibrating were a secret code, with a message just for him.

When the vibrating stopped, Harry opened his hand and stared down at the flower, holding his breath as he wondered what it meant. It was not glowing anymore, and the warmth was leaving it. Harry's heart pounded with excitement and he suddenly wondered if the Professor was telling him something. But he had no idea what it could be. He held his little metal flower tightly in his fist and shuddered all over as another painful tremor wracked his body. He groaned softly and clenched his fists and teeth against a scream. The little boy felt the moon very close now, and his skin burned as if something inside was straining to push out.

Harry knew somehow that it wouldn't be long before he was transformed into a monster, but he wasn't as afraid, somehow, with the flower from his Professor clutched tightly in hand.

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The moon rose, white and full, over England.

In the mountains of Scotland, Remus Lupin sat under a tree, wrapped in his tattered, shabby robes. He lifted his white, gaunt face to the rising moon and held out his trembling hands in welcome. Anything to give him some relief from the torment his own guilty conscience was inflicting on him. His body trembled and a soft gasp of pain escaped his chapped lips. Wolf, run free tonight, you cursed creature! This shall be your last Full Moon, this I swear!

In the small village of Hogsmeade, Harry sat in the Shrieking Shack, fighting the pain and aches as they grew steadily worse. The small boy rocked to and fro against the wall and moaned louder and louder as the pain grew worse. His body was coated in sweat and shook with tremors. What is happening to me? His terrified mind screamed. Am I going to die? It hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts so bad!

In a magical prison cell in London, Severus Snape stood and began to rub his flower charm between his fingers again. Outside his windowless cell, the moon had likely risen by now, and no Werewolf would be interested in the Lily charm Harry now owned. But if he had not transformed yet, it would hopefully be a comfort to the poor child. I will come back to you when I can, child, the Potions Master promised silently. Hold on, Harry. Be strong tonight.

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The moon rose and the screams of the Werewolves spiraled up into the night, melting into howls of despair and agony. Lupin screamed in pain, but he was intimately familiar with the process. His mind retreated instinctively, numbing his perception and willingly allowing the Wolf to rise up in his place. Golden eyes gazed up at the white face of the Full Moon and a red maw opened wide to howl at the sky. Strong, furred limbs stretched and sharp claws tore at the damp mountain soil as the Wolf broke into a bounding run, dashing over the rocks and bounding through the trees, free once again.

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Harry's consciousness melted into mindless agony as excruciating pain lashed through his body with breathtaking speed. He dropped the burning hot metal flower on the floor and threw himself forward on all fours, screaming in pain and arching his back as he struggled against the torment. It burned and tore and he felt like his skin was being peeled from his body. He was barely aware of the colourful robe ripping to shreds and fluttering to the ground around him. His bones were breaking and snapping apart, rearranging themselves and tearing through his ligaments and muscles as they fixed themselves in new positions. His body was stretching and being torn in half. He couldn't think, couldn't function, all he could do was scream and exist in a haze of red-hot torture. His consciousness spiraled down into the blessed relief of unconsciousness as something new, yet familiar, rose up to take his place.

The Wolf awoke.

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Panting with echoes of remembered pain, the new Wolf raised its head curiously from the floor. Strangely familiar, yet terrifying scents reached its twitching nose. Dust swirled in the air and made it sneeze. The wolf blinked its golden eyes dazedly; slowly coming out of the red mist of pain and shakily getting to its feet. The smell of Human was everywhere, with the smell of dust and the very faint, old scent of an older Werewolf, along with the scents of dozens of different animals, mostly small things, too small to be Prey. How did the Wolf know all this? It did not know; it only knew that it was hungry, and angry to be trapped. A growl started in its chest and erupted in a furious howl. Pain and longing and loss echoed harshly in the rickety building where he was kept captive. Howling and shrieking, the Wolf threw itself around the room, tearing and clawing at the walls, furniture, and ground. Its claws were sharp, its new muscles were strong, yet its mind was young, confused, and frightened. The Wolf dashed through its prison, which was built like a human dwelling place, but there was no prey, nothing to rip apart, no comfort for its mindless bloodlust, and no way out.

Furious and terrified, the Wolf turned on itself, clawing violently at its own flesh and biting frantically its bony flank until blood flowed, the sharp scent filling the air. Howling and whimpering in pain, the Wolf limped through the room, snapping at the dancing blue fire and bumping painfully into fallen furniture. The scents of the old Werewolf on the chairs and small table were so faint that the young Wolf wondered whether it was just imagining such a thing. Suddenly realizing that it was totally and completely alone in its pain, the Wolf sat back on bleeding haunches, opened bloodstained jaws, and howled long and loud until there was no breath left in its lungs.

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Another chapter is up! This one was a long anticipated one for me to write and I hope you can all tell me what you thought. Thank you all for your supportive reviews!