Disclaimer: Go see chapt. 1.
Notes: There is some major violence in this chapter. I tried to make this chapter longer than some of my others, and I think it is a little longer than usual. I have trouble writing anything longer than this, though. I'm working on it. Remember to review! Feedback is very very much welcome, and it helps me to write more.
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Of Wolf and Man
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The Shrieking Shack was rumored in Hogsmeade to be haunted by very violent and very loud ghosts and specters. They say it is possibly the most haunted building in the world. In fact, the is false. It is not haunted and never was, except maybe by very gruesome memories. It was simply used by a one Remus Lupin, werewolf extraordinaire, in times past to transform on full moons so that he would not be able to hurt anyone.
Now, to continue that legacy, a new werewolf was occupying the broken down, boarded-up building, anxiously awaiting the moonrise. Harry Potter glanced out of the dusty window for the seventh time in five minutes, but the moon still was absent from the night sky. The only illumination was a light dusting of stars in the velvety blackness.
Harry had broken out in a light sheen of cold sweat. He swallowed hard and sat on an ancient chair with its legs ripped off. He was afraid that he would faint if he kept standing.
The air was chilly. Harry wasn't sure if he was cold or just nervous. He shook rather violently either way.
Harry sat there and wondered what he was going to do about Ron and Hermione. How would he explain this to them? They wouldn't hate him, he knew that. They were like him in believing not all werewolves were bad, for they knew Professor Lupin as well. But they would feel sorry for him, maybe even pity him. Harry couldn't stand that. He didn't want to see the pure pity in their eyes every time he looked at them.
He was so engrossed in these thoughts that he didn't notice the sliver of silvery light that peeked in through the bottom of the window. When he did finally register the extra illumination, he jumped away from it like it was fire.
"No," Harry breathed. "No, I'm not ready..." The light spread further, and Harry scrambled on top of the chair, trying not to touch it. "I'm not ready!" Uncaring, the moon continued to rise and make its nightly arc across the sky. Harry leapt from the chair and ran into another room deeper in the house, a room without windows. He slammed the door shut on the light and leaned against it, breathing heavy.
Then he doubled over in pain, his guts writhing in his stomach. The pain was incredible, like someone had shoved blazing hot pokers in his abdomen and twisted them. Harry grunted and fell to one knee.
A tingling sensation washed over every inch of his skin, which soon turned into an itch. Harry looked down at his hands to see fur sprout in a wave over his body. Then the pain returned twofold and it spread to every limb. Harry winced and hugged himself fiercely, trying to will the hurt away, and he gritted his teeth to prevent the scream that was welling up inside from escaping. It was an uphill struggle, though, and he was losing ground.
His spine lengthened and he watched with horrid fascination, through watering eyes, as his fingers shriveled and twisted and reconfigured themselves into paws with cat-like talons. Fire flamed across his face when his face sprouted out before his very eyes into a long muzzle filled with killing teeth.
Harry tilted his head back and warbled out a strange, low moaning sound halfway between a scream and a howl.
In a few minutes, the pain was gone, and he was not Harry. The new being pointed its nose to the sky and howled in fury and freedom. Elsewhere in Hogsmeade, mothers held their children close as the ghosts in the Shrieking Shack reawoke.
He tested the air with his inhuman sense of smell. There was no prey here, no victims he could hunt down and attack. This enraged him. He wanted humans. Humans who were slow, weak, stupid, and delicious. He wanted to bite them, to sink his sharp fangs into their soft skin and taste the hot, sweet blood.
He looked about the room that imprisoned him and paced its walls, searching for a way out, but he could find none. Huffing angrily, he paced back around, but there was nothing.
He must get out! He wanted to hunt, and he was so hungry...
The creature shrieked in fury and threw itself against the door, sensing that it had come through that way before, but it was now closed to it. He rebounded and leapt again, determined to be free. A third time and the rusted old hinges gave out and the door flew outward, crashing to the dusty floor with the beast on top.
Soft moonlight flooding in through the window bathed the monster, and its eyes aglow with an otherworldly green in the luminescence. It sang to the moon briefly before setting off at a quick trot, searching for the hot- blooded creatures it knew was near.
It ran from room to room, but it could find neither prey nor escape from the larger prison it realized it was in. The one before was but a trap within a greater trap, and he was inside while the humans were outside. He paused before the front door of the box and sniffed at the bottom of the portal. There was a draft of fresh air coming from the small crack, and with it, the enticing scent of fresh meat, there for the pickings.
He scratched at the crack, but his claws barely grazed the hard wood floors, and it would take forever to get out that way. He snorted and threw himself against the door, for it had worked once before. But this one held fast, and no amount of abused would undo it.
The creature screamed at the portal and slashed at it with insanely sharp claws, but it would not open. Desperately, it raced around the house again, searching, searching for another way. When he returned to the same place, he snarled and snapped and roared and raged, but the door would not open for him. He threw himself against it time and time again, the need to bite someone, kill something, was overwhelming.
It was only after hours of violently attacking every window and door, that the beast turned to the only other thing to vent his rage upon.
Himself.
***
Harry opened his eyes slowly. Garishly bright streamers of golden sunlight drifted into the room his lie in, and he moaned softly. He ached all over, and the night before was all a hazy blur of rage and bloodthirsty drive. He felt like one giant bruise, and he had the distinct, coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He spat in disgust and wiped at his mouth.
Harry sat up and looked around. The room was in tatters. All of the furniture had been completely obliterated, and there were several deep gouges in the shape of claw marks on the walls. There were dark brown stains all over the place, and Harry realized that it was blood. In fact, the place reeked of it. He covered his nose and moaned again. Looking down, he saw that he was naked, his robes had ripped when he had transformed, and crisscrossing his body were scratches, gashes, scrapes, and deep bite marks, all half-healed already.
His glasses were nowhere to be found, and the room had a blur to all its edges that gave Harry a headache.
His head snapped to one side. He heard footsteps coming his way, and there was a faint whisper of robes rustling as one walked his way. One of the few surviving doors creaked open and Harry looked up to see a dark, forbidding- looking man with pale skin and dark hair and eyes looking down at him. He couldn't make out his expression.
"I see you've had a busy night, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape noted. "At least the boards still held up after so many years of neglect. I was concerned that they would have rotted by now, but the headmaster seemed certain that they would serve one last time before we have them replaced." Harry tried to speak, but no words would come. He stared numbly up at his Professor. Snape threw something at him, and Harry caught them automatically. He realized that they were a fresh set of robes, and he hurriedly donned them, remembering his nude state.
"Come on, Mr. Potter, we haven't got all day," Snape sighed. Harry tugged his sweater over his head and stood. Snape handed him his glasses and Harry put them on. Instantly everything came into focus, although Harry would have preferred not to see the gore-splattered walls in detail. He looked only at Snape, instead.
"Let's go," the Potions Master said, turning on his heel. He led Harry back to the trap door in another room and they set back off for the Whomping Willow.
Harry could not remember being this exhausted before. His legs were like lead, and his eyes felt gritty. It wasn't surprising, given that he hadn't had a good night's rest for three days. He stumbled a bit as they walked, Snape's wand lit to show them the way. Harry remembered vaguely that his had been left in Snape's office for safekeeping.
"We should be just in time for breakfast," Snape said. "Afterwards you will return to your classes as usual, Potter."
Classes... It felt so stupid compared to last night. He had just endured madness and hate so profound he might never be the same again, and he was expected to just go back to class like nothing had happened? It wasn't fair. And he would have said so, too. But he just didn't have the energy. Ahead, Snape glanced over his shoulder at the tired, weary boy walking on autopilot behind him, and some unreadable expression passed over his face.
Then he faced forward again and continued on. Harry thought it rather odd, but dismissed it. He didn't care. He very much doubted that he would care even if Voldemort suddenly came back to life and started attacking all of Hogwarts.
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Notes: There is some major violence in this chapter. I tried to make this chapter longer than some of my others, and I think it is a little longer than usual. I have trouble writing anything longer than this, though. I'm working on it. Remember to review! Feedback is very very much welcome, and it helps me to write more.
~*~*~*~
Of Wolf and Man
~*~*~*~
The Shrieking Shack was rumored in Hogsmeade to be haunted by very violent and very loud ghosts and specters. They say it is possibly the most haunted building in the world. In fact, the is false. It is not haunted and never was, except maybe by very gruesome memories. It was simply used by a one Remus Lupin, werewolf extraordinaire, in times past to transform on full moons so that he would not be able to hurt anyone.
Now, to continue that legacy, a new werewolf was occupying the broken down, boarded-up building, anxiously awaiting the moonrise. Harry Potter glanced out of the dusty window for the seventh time in five minutes, but the moon still was absent from the night sky. The only illumination was a light dusting of stars in the velvety blackness.
Harry had broken out in a light sheen of cold sweat. He swallowed hard and sat on an ancient chair with its legs ripped off. He was afraid that he would faint if he kept standing.
The air was chilly. Harry wasn't sure if he was cold or just nervous. He shook rather violently either way.
Harry sat there and wondered what he was going to do about Ron and Hermione. How would he explain this to them? They wouldn't hate him, he knew that. They were like him in believing not all werewolves were bad, for they knew Professor Lupin as well. But they would feel sorry for him, maybe even pity him. Harry couldn't stand that. He didn't want to see the pure pity in their eyes every time he looked at them.
He was so engrossed in these thoughts that he didn't notice the sliver of silvery light that peeked in through the bottom of the window. When he did finally register the extra illumination, he jumped away from it like it was fire.
"No," Harry breathed. "No, I'm not ready..." The light spread further, and Harry scrambled on top of the chair, trying not to touch it. "I'm not ready!" Uncaring, the moon continued to rise and make its nightly arc across the sky. Harry leapt from the chair and ran into another room deeper in the house, a room without windows. He slammed the door shut on the light and leaned against it, breathing heavy.
Then he doubled over in pain, his guts writhing in his stomach. The pain was incredible, like someone had shoved blazing hot pokers in his abdomen and twisted them. Harry grunted and fell to one knee.
A tingling sensation washed over every inch of his skin, which soon turned into an itch. Harry looked down at his hands to see fur sprout in a wave over his body. Then the pain returned twofold and it spread to every limb. Harry winced and hugged himself fiercely, trying to will the hurt away, and he gritted his teeth to prevent the scream that was welling up inside from escaping. It was an uphill struggle, though, and he was losing ground.
His spine lengthened and he watched with horrid fascination, through watering eyes, as his fingers shriveled and twisted and reconfigured themselves into paws with cat-like talons. Fire flamed across his face when his face sprouted out before his very eyes into a long muzzle filled with killing teeth.
Harry tilted his head back and warbled out a strange, low moaning sound halfway between a scream and a howl.
In a few minutes, the pain was gone, and he was not Harry. The new being pointed its nose to the sky and howled in fury and freedom. Elsewhere in Hogsmeade, mothers held their children close as the ghosts in the Shrieking Shack reawoke.
He tested the air with his inhuman sense of smell. There was no prey here, no victims he could hunt down and attack. This enraged him. He wanted humans. Humans who were slow, weak, stupid, and delicious. He wanted to bite them, to sink his sharp fangs into their soft skin and taste the hot, sweet blood.
He looked about the room that imprisoned him and paced its walls, searching for a way out, but he could find none. Huffing angrily, he paced back around, but there was nothing.
He must get out! He wanted to hunt, and he was so hungry...
The creature shrieked in fury and threw itself against the door, sensing that it had come through that way before, but it was now closed to it. He rebounded and leapt again, determined to be free. A third time and the rusted old hinges gave out and the door flew outward, crashing to the dusty floor with the beast on top.
Soft moonlight flooding in through the window bathed the monster, and its eyes aglow with an otherworldly green in the luminescence. It sang to the moon briefly before setting off at a quick trot, searching for the hot- blooded creatures it knew was near.
It ran from room to room, but it could find neither prey nor escape from the larger prison it realized it was in. The one before was but a trap within a greater trap, and he was inside while the humans were outside. He paused before the front door of the box and sniffed at the bottom of the portal. There was a draft of fresh air coming from the small crack, and with it, the enticing scent of fresh meat, there for the pickings.
He scratched at the crack, but his claws barely grazed the hard wood floors, and it would take forever to get out that way. He snorted and threw himself against the door, for it had worked once before. But this one held fast, and no amount of abused would undo it.
The creature screamed at the portal and slashed at it with insanely sharp claws, but it would not open. Desperately, it raced around the house again, searching, searching for another way. When he returned to the same place, he snarled and snapped and roared and raged, but the door would not open for him. He threw himself against it time and time again, the need to bite someone, kill something, was overwhelming.
It was only after hours of violently attacking every window and door, that the beast turned to the only other thing to vent his rage upon.
Himself.
***
Harry opened his eyes slowly. Garishly bright streamers of golden sunlight drifted into the room his lie in, and he moaned softly. He ached all over, and the night before was all a hazy blur of rage and bloodthirsty drive. He felt like one giant bruise, and he had the distinct, coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He spat in disgust and wiped at his mouth.
Harry sat up and looked around. The room was in tatters. All of the furniture had been completely obliterated, and there were several deep gouges in the shape of claw marks on the walls. There were dark brown stains all over the place, and Harry realized that it was blood. In fact, the place reeked of it. He covered his nose and moaned again. Looking down, he saw that he was naked, his robes had ripped when he had transformed, and crisscrossing his body were scratches, gashes, scrapes, and deep bite marks, all half-healed already.
His glasses were nowhere to be found, and the room had a blur to all its edges that gave Harry a headache.
His head snapped to one side. He heard footsteps coming his way, and there was a faint whisper of robes rustling as one walked his way. One of the few surviving doors creaked open and Harry looked up to see a dark, forbidding- looking man with pale skin and dark hair and eyes looking down at him. He couldn't make out his expression.
"I see you've had a busy night, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape noted. "At least the boards still held up after so many years of neglect. I was concerned that they would have rotted by now, but the headmaster seemed certain that they would serve one last time before we have them replaced." Harry tried to speak, but no words would come. He stared numbly up at his Professor. Snape threw something at him, and Harry caught them automatically. He realized that they were a fresh set of robes, and he hurriedly donned them, remembering his nude state.
"Come on, Mr. Potter, we haven't got all day," Snape sighed. Harry tugged his sweater over his head and stood. Snape handed him his glasses and Harry put them on. Instantly everything came into focus, although Harry would have preferred not to see the gore-splattered walls in detail. He looked only at Snape, instead.
"Let's go," the Potions Master said, turning on his heel. He led Harry back to the trap door in another room and they set back off for the Whomping Willow.
Harry could not remember being this exhausted before. His legs were like lead, and his eyes felt gritty. It wasn't surprising, given that he hadn't had a good night's rest for three days. He stumbled a bit as they walked, Snape's wand lit to show them the way. Harry remembered vaguely that his had been left in Snape's office for safekeeping.
"We should be just in time for breakfast," Snape said. "Afterwards you will return to your classes as usual, Potter."
Classes... It felt so stupid compared to last night. He had just endured madness and hate so profound he might never be the same again, and he was expected to just go back to class like nothing had happened? It wasn't fair. And he would have said so, too. But he just didn't have the energy. Ahead, Snape glanced over his shoulder at the tired, weary boy walking on autopilot behind him, and some unreadable expression passed over his face.
Then he faced forward again and continued on. Harry thought it rather odd, but dismissed it. He didn't care. He very much doubted that he would care even if Voldemort suddenly came back to life and started attacking all of Hogwarts.
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