I know that it was most nasty of me to leave you hanging there—I have the power. I have the power to make you want to strangle me.

Alrighty, getting into the plot more now. Politics, danger, and bad humor—just like a soap opera, which is scary.

The chapter is brought to you by me, the author.

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Chudley Cannons: Let's just hope for the best, shall we?

The House of Wolves

James snorted, awakening to the strong smell of disinfectant that told him immediately where he was—the hospital wing. James grunted and used his right arm to shove himself upwards, eyes still closed. He couldn't feel his left arm—oh, right, it was cut off.

James froze and looked at it, disbelieving. It was there—his arm was there! He tried to wiggle his fingers, but they wouldn't respond to his brain's commands. James tried again, and again he failed to evoke any sort of movement.

"James!" He looked up to see Sirius, Remus and Peter standing there. "You're awake!" They rushed to his side, clapping him gently on the back. James grinned for a moment before turning his attention back to the inactive limb.

"Yeah…hey, not to sound weird or anything, but wasn't my arm cut off?" James asked blandly. Remus looked at him strangely.

"You're—not going to ask what happened?" he asked. "Don't you want to know why you were attacked?"

"I already know," James said shortly. "Shanks—that bastard, he hexed the griffin and—"

"Wait—what?"

James stared. "Didn't you see? He sent a hex towards the griffin—he tried to get me killed, that son of a—"

"We didn't see," Sirius said. "All we saw was a blue light, and then wham! The griffin was on you like…like…Snape on a grease trap," he finished lamely. He was at a loss for words, something that rarely happened. Although it wasn't noticeable, Sirius was sorely shaken up by what had almost happened. James was his best friend; his brother. If he had died… Then anger swiftly replaced the fear as Sirius registered what James had said.

"What?" he demanded. "Shanks? I'll kill him—"

"Are you feeling alright?" Peter asked hurriedly.

James glanced bemusedly at his arm. "I had an arm. I didn't have an arm. I have an arm again. What the hell happened? If it wasn't cut off, why can't I move it?"

"Madame Pomfrey reattached it while you were still out," Remus explained. "She said that you wouldn't be able to use it for a few days; the nerves need to reconnect to each other and the muscles—not to mention the bones, ligament and tendons—need to heal."

"She was able to reattach it?"

"Yeah." Sirius winced. "Mind you, it won't be pretty. Once the nerves start working again, it's going to be hell, 'cause they're going to be able to register pain." He shrugged. "Sorry, mate. Wish there was something we could do." He gestured towards a table at the foot of James' bed, which James suddenly noticed was overflowing with various presents. He rubbed his head in amazement.

"Good Lord, how long have I been out?"

"A day. Pomfrey gave you a sleeping potion to relax. You'll probably want more once the feeling comes back in your arm." Remus shook his head. "You were extremely fortunate that you didn't die, James," he said softly. "If you are right, and I think you are, Lupi isn't about to hesitate to kill you. They're that desperate."

James sat back heavily against the pillows, his arm useless at his side. A weight that he had been fending off for some time was now settling on his shoulders, making him stumble in confidence. The gravity of the situation had never escaped him; he had always known what Lupi was capable of, but he'd never felt the effects of pure anger before. It was unsettling—Hogwarts, always having been safe, was now victim to itself, being eaten alive by an unseen force that existed only to the chosen and unlucky few. James rested his forehead against his hand, suddenly having a pounding headache.

Madame Pomfrey bustled in just then, and upon seeing James, immediately shooed the other three boys away, insisting that James needed rest. They shuffled reluctantly away, giving James apologetic smiles as they filed out.

Pomfrey turned to James, who was looking morosely at the wall. "How long will I be in here?" he asked dully, staring a hole through the white wall.

The nurse tutted, forcing James to lie back. "As long as you need," she said, wagging her finger annoyingly. Seeing James' displeased face, she sighed and added, "Perhaps you'll be out tomorrow, dear, if you be a good boy and do what I say. I'll just sling up your arm until it's operational again—but you're going to be in for a bumpy ride," she warned. "Once feeling in your arms regains, there will be a bit of pain."

"I know," James said tiredly. "My friends told me."

Pomfrey didn't seem to have heard. Instead, she began checking James' arm, prodding here and there. A prominent red scar encircled where the arm had been reattached to his body. James glanced emotionlessly at it and looked away, wanting to get rid of the gruesome image in his head of the severed arm lying in the grass, blood oozing. His blood.

As the nurse plodded to make some more potion James brought his hand to his face, sniffing gingerly. Even disinfectant couldn't completely wash out the metallic smell of the blood that had stained his previously unblemished skin. It lingered there, a palpable reminder of the danger only the day before; of the hate that caused the bloodshed. James took his hand away, eyes staring into blank space.

Someone had despised him so much as to willingly cause him harm, even to kill him.

James sighed and leaned back. The unpleasant metallic smell tarried in his nostrils and buried deep. James knew that no matter how long he lived, he would always remember that smell, that stench of undiluted hatred.

An hour later, when James was sufficiently coherent enough to receive a visitor, Lily Evans came to see him.

He heard her voice outside of the curtains separating James from the rest of the outside world; caging him in. James sighed—he'd never been so bored. He'd long since run out of arm jokes to make about himself. The whole situation would have been infinitely more interesting had his arm turned purple. James wiggled his toes, willing them to fall off so he'd have something to laugh about.

Lily brushed some of the curtains aside and stepped in, the bustling form of Madame Pomfrey behind her for a brief moment. Then the curtains closed and they were alone. James blinked—what was she doing there?

She tossed him a box of Every Flavor Beans. James smiled wryly. "You probably took all the edible ones out."

Lily shrugged and sat in a chair beside the bed, drawing her legs up. She gave the teenager a strange look, as though unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to say. "James," she began, "what happened? I know that you're not stupid enough to try and mud wrestle a griffin all by your lonesome." Her mouth was quirked up, like she wouldn't be too surprised if James disagreed.

"I am, but that wasn't the case."

"What was?"

"Oh, not much," James said bitterly, plucking at his bandage. "Just a kid trying to kill me, is all."

Lily's eyes widened and then narrowed in confusion. "Wait—who in Care of Magical—"

"Shanks," replied James listlessly. "Shanks, who unfortunately has very good aim."

"Shanks?" Lily repeated. "Shiloh Shanks?"

"The very one."

Lily stared for a moment. James knew that she, like himself, was stunned into a horrified disbelief; not having wanted to believe that anyone was capable of attempted murder on someone who simply refused to join a cult…Lily sagged a little in realization, and sadly understood more of the world. James silently watched the transition from naivety into an unwilling acceptance. He then looked away, picking through his Every Flavor Beans for flavors that he trusted.

Lily absently reached over for one, still absorbed in her thoughts. James saw her hand going for a funny brown one—which he knew firsthand was booger flavored—and discreetly poked the brown one away. Lily grabbed a strawberry flavor one instead and munched at it thoughtfully.

"When will your arm be back to normal?" she asked.

James, reminded, gave another fruitless tug at his nerves, which proceeded to blow raspberries and not respond otherwise. "A few days," he said, defeated. He didn't mention the coming bouts of torturous pain. Lily nodded quietly.

"What are you going to do?" she said quietly.

James frowned. He didn't have to ask her what she meant. And the frustrating thing was he couldn't answer. "I don't know," he said.

Lily shifted uncomfortably, looking at James with a wave of pity. He saw the look and furrowed his brows—it wasn't a big deal; he didn't like anybody pitying him. "I don't need you feeling bad," he mumbled. Lily looked surprised. "That's the last thing I need."

Lily thought for a moment, shrugged and said, "Well, tough. Deal with it. You're in a damned mess and it's not your fault. Of course I'm going to feel bad, you moron. You almost died."

"And feeling bad isn't going to help me!" James snapped. Lily didn't take offense at that—she noticed the waver in his voice. "How can I get out of this with others standing on the sidelines saying 'Oh, that's so terrible, poor thing' when they don't even know that they're being eaten alive!"

Lily looked at him. "You think that others will be in danger soon?"

James' anger deflated. "Yeah," he muttered. "Probably. The whole bloody cult's on that damn 'elite' kick, anyone who's not is expendable…They're crackpots, and when they think their 'time' comes, it's going to be slaughter."

Lily frowned at his choice of words. "Slaughter?" she echoed. "Do you really think—"

"I do," said James shortly.

Lily sighed and sat back, her mind spinning. This was just all too much. She really, really wanted to believe that James was exaggerating, and probably would have had she not seen the truth in his words. Yes, the Lupi members were insane. Crazy people had a riddled sense of equality.

"What about Peter?"

That brought a smile to James' lips. "What about him?"

"Well—is he still…"

James's smile widened. "Yes. But he's on our side now."

Lily raised her eyebrow. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

Lily bit her lip and took a good long look at James, scrutinizing what she saw. There was no doubt there, just a fierce, radiating confidence. Lily laughed a little and stretched her legs out. Still the same old James—she didn't think about it, but if she had, she would have been startled to realize that she didn't really mind all that much anymore.

"I'd better go," she said. "Things to do. Don't get too bored."

"Easier said than done."

Lily laughed and pushed her way out from the curtains and stopped to say hello to the nurse before stepping back out into the hallway. James shifted in the sheets and poked his arm. Eventually he got tired of that and grabbed his wand. He drew idly on his limp arm with his wand, making little doodles of blue and green with ink flowing from the tip of his wand.

Eventually he got tired of even that, dropped back his head and fell asleep.

It was later that evening, when James had finally reached the ultimate level of boredom and couldn't even sleep, and was dragging by the time by tonelessly drumming his fingers upon his bed sheets, when he got another visitor. The student stopped to talk to the nurse.

The voice was vaguely familiar, but as most in the school were, James ignored it and continued tapping out the William Tell Overture, which he only knew because of Viggo Yates blasting it out as an alarm clock every morning. He had just gotten to the finale when the curtains parted and James' fingers stopped in shock, and he sat up straight in bed and reached for his wand—

"Come off it, I'm not going to kill you," Daniel Vargas said amiably, brandishing a stack of papers. "I'm just delivering homework assignments." He tossed the stack to James, who didn't touch it. Vargas snorted and pulled up a chair.

"Don't sit," James warned, his wand grasped firmly in his good hand.

Vargas ignored him and sat backwards on the chair, leaning on the back. "I heard about what happened."

"Oh, really?" James said nastily. "So you can hear. Congratulations."

"Not that part," Vargas said with a touch of annoyance. "The part about Shiloh Shanks. Apparently about a dozen students saw him hexing the griffin."

"Why didn't you take care of them?" James retorted. "You know, so they couldn't blab about your cult?" Vargas looked quickly at the space between the curtains. Fortunately for him, Pomfrey was not there.

"Shut up," he hissed, "or I swear I'll—"

"You'll what?" James taunted. He fully well knew that it was dangerous, poking fun at the ruthless leader of the House of Wolves, but if he played his cards right… "You'll kill me?" he asked mockingly. "Gee, that wouldn't raise suspicion too much. Dumbledore and McGonagall are watching you."

"I know that," Vargas snapped. "I'm not an idiot. I'm coming to warn you and tell you that you got an 'Outstanding' on your Transfiguration test." James raised his eyebrow.

"Which was more pressing?"

Vargas looked at him darkly. "Stop being stupid, Potter," he sneered. "It doesn't become you—I gave you more credit than that. I invited you in the first place for a reason. I'm coming to warn you, and give you a choice."

"I'm honored," James said sarcastically. "Here I was, sitting all by my lonesome drumming out the William Tell Overture in mismatched, uneven timing and here you come to lighten up my day. I stopped my drumming for this crap? Real honored."

"You should be," Vargas said, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "You're the only one who we've offered a choice, which is this: join or die."

James laughed. He laughed hard and genuinely. "Dream on, Vegas."

"Vargas," the other snarled. "You should be humbled—we've never given anybody that choice before; if they resisted, we simply killed them…" His voice trailed off. James stopped laughing, and was looking at him seriously. It was not the gaze of a scared man; if there were a boggart present, he could have stared it down until it crept into a corner and wet itself; it was more the look of someone equally as dangerous as Vargas himself; a predator.

"You won't kill me," James said, a steely mask shrouding his eyes.

"Because you'll join," Vargas said.

"No—because you and your cronies are going to rot in hell. Dumbledore's not had proof yet, but you're slipping. Shanks attacked, and others saw it. Shanks is associated with you—they'll be watching, and your hide is going to hang…"

Vargas was unruffled. "Shanks," he said easily, "has made an error. He has been punished accordingly."

James stiffened. "You killed him?" he whispered hoarsely.

Vargas smiled nastily.

James' fist was clenched in fury. "You heartless bastard—"

"You better watch that tongue of yours, or I'll cut it off," Vargas interrupted smoothly. James did not doubt his sincerity. "And for your information, I did not kill him, but merely gave him a palpable reminder of what will happen if ever again he is tempted to lose control. He is my own vice president, after all. I cannot kill him yet."

James caught the last word. "Yet?"

Vargas sighed and leaned back a bit. James seriously hoped that he would fall off his chair. He wanted to demand that that other boy leave, complain to Pomfrey, but a horrified sort of fascination had settled in with an absolute certainty that he needed to hear this.

"Get this, Potter," said Vargas, scratching his neck, looking for all the world like he was discussing Quidditch scores. "La Camera dei Lupi, the House of Wolves, is a group of violent miscreants who believe that they do not fit in their houses because they are 'elite', chosen to lead the new wave of generations. In reality, the reason they do not fit in is because they are too stupid and wild to settle down. They are bloodthirsty cowards that use murder and threats as intimidation. They believe that they are priceless, but truth be told, they are simply expendable."

James didn't answer—not because he was shocked speechless, but because he'd already known all that. Vargas caught that and nodded.

"But you already knew that, Potter, didn't you?" he asked blandly. "I'm not yet telling you anything you don't know." He tugged at his collar. "I realized this weakness of the Lupi members very early on, and I knew immediately that I could shape and mold them to fit my own, personal needs. You see, Potter," Vargas smiled wickedly, "I am one of the elite. I fit in. I can blend and conform, while really it is others conforming to me.

"The problem was, upon my first joining in fourth year, that there already was a President. I worked my way up the ladder until I was vice president. I was cunning, sagacious enough to stand head and shoulders above the mooning crowd. And then I killed the President." This was all said simply. "That is how things work. Very, very few Presidents live past seventeen. If I am not careful, Shiloh Shanks will do to me what I did to the previous President. I will not allow that to happen."

James scowled. "Get out. Now," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "I swear I'll shove my wand through your throat if you don't."

Vargas made to leave, setting back the chair. "Join, Potter. It's your only chance to survive."

"What, so I can be the next Shiloh Shanks?" James growled.

"No, so you can be the next Daniel Vargas. You could be great," he said simply. "You have the potential."

"I'd prefer to waste it. Go away." James raised his wand.

Vargas smiled. "Very well. Soon you will be able to greet the President that was before me." He then parted the curtains and stepped back out into the hallway.

James stared after him for a moment, and then lowered his wand and dropped his head into his hands.

Poor James! Well, I was going to add more to it, but you see, it was going to be a cliffhanger and I decided that I couldn't be that mean to drop a bomb like that on you and go merrily off to camp whistling showtunes.

Well, like I just said, the next chapter will be a cliffhanger, so be prepared—or maybe it won't be, depending on where I place the event in the chapter…oh, I love this, am I making you nervous? *laughs* Let's just say that James is hit where it's going to hurt the most…I'll stop now :)

Please review and tell me what you think! I'd much appreciate it. Zetta, you're leaving the loveliest long reviews, thank you so much! And thank you for referring me to your mailing list (Is your mailing list about your MWPP writing group thing? I think I might join…).

And thank you Skye0906, for also leaving a wonderfully long review, too!

Until next chapter, folks :)