A/N: Herein, we see a bit of the Lupin who brought four-year-old Harry Potter to the castle, all those years (and chapters) ago. Also, Herodos begins to have a hunch.
Chapter Forteen: The Dark Forest
By the end of break, the manor was starting to feel like home. Harry, Dina, Uncle Re and Papa had breakfast together, while Charlie lazed about in bed until nearly lunchtime. Charlie and Dina took Harry down to London to shop for Papa and Uncle Re, and Charlie managed to get them lost searching for a famous Muggle toystore, Hamley's. On Christmas itself, everyone exchanged presents, and Dina teased Harry about Hermione's gift, as if she was an older sister. Uncle Re did nothing suspicious, Harry thought. He and Papa merely traded their normal barbs and, since Charlie and Dina knew that Uncle Re was a werewolf, Papa's insults got a little meaner.
And then, the break was over, and it was time to get back to Hogwarts. Charlie took Dina off for a week at the Burrow, the Weasley family home. Harry packed up all his new treasures in order to show them to his friends. Papa closed up the dining room, and Uncle Re went back to wearing his drab professor cardigan instead of his festive holiday sweaters.
Ron and Percy were waiting to meet Harry in the Gryffindor Common Room, the night before the other students took the train back. "Merry Christmas, Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "Thanks for the cap!" Harry had gotten him a Chudley Cannons hat, as that was his favourite Quidditch team.
Ron's gift to Harry was a Norwegian Ridgeback figurine that pranced around on the palm of his hand and breathed tiny, harmless flames. "Cool dragon," Harry replied. "Charlie quite liked it."
"Charlie?" Ron asked. Percy looked up from his pile of books. "Not my brother Charlie…"
Harry nodded. "He was the secret guest."
"But I thought he was spending the holiday with his new girlfriend's family," Percy remarked. "At least, that's what his letter last week said."
He was fairly certain he was glowing in his happiness - since Dina's parents were evil gits, it was nice to know she thought of him and Papa as family. "He was," Harry explained. "Me and Papa and Uncle Re. And Dina, of course."
Ron snorted. "Wanker. Not telling us the truth."
"Your language is foul, Ronald. You'll not be wanting to teach Harry those words; I'm sure he picked up enough horrid Greek insults for the both of you," Percy snapped. He grabbed up his books and marched off toward his dormitory.
Harry sat next to Ron on the couch. "Well," Harry asked, "did Kyri- You Know Who attack over the holiday?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "I assure you, you'd have heard it on the news. There was some excitement at Christmas Eve dinner."
"Oh?" Harry started eating a chocolate frog from Uncle Re's present - this time, he was careful to read the whole card closely. When he opened it, he gave a yelp of triumph. "Harry Potter! Finally!" Just one away from the whole set. The portrait on the front was empty, since no one was quite certain what the Boy Who Lived looked like anymore.
"Are you listening to me or not?" Ron asked.
Harry flushed and stuffed the card - very carefully, so as to keep it in mint condition - into his bag. "Sorry. Something exciting at Christmas Eve dinner?"
"Most of the specimens from the Defense classroom escaped!" Ron exclaimed. "The Kappas were the worst - great hulking monkeys, they are, covered in these horrible scales - and while the Cornish pixies were easy to catch, Dumbledore had quite the time with the Kappas. There was even a boggart that hid in the Great Hall fireplace! The next morning, when we came for breakfast, it came out and started shifting into these horrible things. It was a rotting skeleton, and a spider -" Ron shuddered, "- and for Dumbledore, it was this great frightening thing in a black robe that made the room, chilled like ice had been poured down all our backs."
"Granpa hunted the specimens?" Harry frowned. "Where was Professor Quirrell?"
Ron laughed. "Oh, he was there too. Bloody ineffective against the pixies. Anyway, Hagrid led us all off to wait in the Ravenclaw Common Room, while the professor searched off in all different directions." He shrugged. "Hopefully, Professor Lupin will be around when You Know Who attacks. I'd hate it if it were Quirrell. He'd stutter so badly that he'd mess up a spell and kill himself by accident!"
Harry couldn't help but look uncomfortable. "I hardly think it would be a fair fight, either way. You Know Who was the most powerful Dark Wizard in centuries. A simple professor could not destroy him."
"Dumbledore destroyed Grindelwald," Ron pointed out.
Eager to avoid an argument, as Harry was quite certain that Kyrios Voldemort wouldn't be stupid enough to try and take Hogwarts when Granpa was around, he changed his subject. "I will need help on my homework from now on. It all has to be in English, and soon Papa will mark down for grammar, too."
"Just keep me safe in Potions," Ron replied. "Your dad can be wicked scary."
Not as scary as a transformed werewolf cursed by unicorn blood, Harry thought, but he kept it to himself.
They were back, and it was time to start making plans.
------
The last unicorn was found dead at the full moon, so Harry set his plans to coincide with the next one. It was particularly difficult to keep his plans secret, since the others were pressuring him to help with their plans to combat Kyrios Voldemort's inevitable attack - and all of Harry's assignments had to be written in English. Between slaving away over a History of Magic essay on the Vampire Revolt of 1231 and giving his input on Neville's idea to leave a potted Mandrake in the castle's foyer, which Voldemort would trip over and cause to scream, thus killing him (Neville had, of course, forgotten that the screams would kill everyone else in the area, too), Harry was barely ready by the next full moon.
The entire plan hinged on one element: Harry's ability at the Chameleon charm he'd discovered in Fred's third-year textbook. After casting it on himself, he'd fade into the background. It was more difficult magic than he was used to, and it certainly wasn't fool-proof. There were more advanced spells that would dampen the sound of his footsteps or disguise the sound of his breathing, but there wasn't time to learn them. Instead, he spent his few free moments casting the spell on himself in his dormitory, then walking down into the Common Room to see if it worked.
Half the time wasn't good enough. He had to be sure he could get it right on the first try, because by the time he saw his chance to follow Remus, there wouldn't be time to check if it worked.
It was already the night before the full moon by the time Harry felt his camoflage was good enough to be tested in the field. He cast the spell several hours after dinner and crept out of the portrait hole, leaving Ron, Neville, and Hermione doing their homework in the Common Room.
The first real test came as he rounded the first bend toward the Defense classroom. Mrs. Norris slunk around the corner. Harry froze. If she caught sight of him, he wouldn't be in trouble, yet - it wasn't quite curfew - but Filch might find a way to punish him anyway. Harry was one of the few Gryffindors who'd escaped Filch's wrath so late into the year. He had no doubt it was due to his father living down in the dungeons.
Mrs. Norris paused just as she passed Harry by, and sniffed lightly. She turned and gave Harry a long glare but, after a moment, headed around the corner toward the Fat Lady's portrait. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Obviously, the spell wasn't cat-proof, but it at least kept Filch's pet from seeing Harry as a threat.
Reassured, Harry hurried down to the Defense classroom. He was hoping to catch Uncle Re before he headed back to his rooms for the night. Harry could hear sound from inside the classroom. The door was propped open, so Harry crouched down and peered inside.
Uncle Re and Professor Quirrell were there, Quirrell hunched over what was probably the next day's lesson plan. Uncle Re was pacing the back of the room. It was because the full moon was so close, Harry knew - Remus took on the most wolf-like of his qualities, then. In class, those were the days they did most of their practicals. Uncle Re was full of energy and bounded around the classroom while seeing how the students were faring. It was entirely different than his attitude in the first days after the moon, when he was so weak he needed a cane to limp around the classroom.
"You'll be w-well enough to t-teach the - er - Grindylows, t-tomorrow?" Quirrell stuttered. "B-because I - I don't th-think it would be a g-good idea f-for me to -"
"Yes, yes, I'll be perfectly fine, tomorrow," Remus snapped. "You'll not need to touch them at all. However, I'd like you to copy these notes up in the morning." Uncle Re bounded over and snatched up a pile of paper. "These." He turned to the blackboard, and Quirrell abandoned the lesson plan to follow. "I'll be needing this diagram in the early part of the lesson -"
Harry winced and rubbed his forehead. His headache was coming back, again, and this one seemed to be particularly bad. He held himself up against the wall, so that he wouldn't make noise if he happened to pass out, and tried to keep watching.
Quirrell spun around and stared straight at the door. "Er - P-professor, it's getting a b-bit late, and I'd th-think it's time for me t-to leave f-for the even-ning."
"Oh, alright," Uncle Re snorted. "Go on, then. I'll finish up."
With a nod, Quirrell went for his briefcase. He marched toward the door with a more purposeful gait than Harry had seen from him, before. Harry scooted away from the door and curled up against the wall. He held his breath.
When the door flew open, the pain in his forehead became excruciating. He barely kept himself from crying out. Professor Quirrell stopped and peered around the corridor but, finding nothing, walked away. It took Harry a long moment to recover. He was grateful that he hadn't fainted when Quirrell walked by and lost control of the chameleon spell.
Finally, Uncle Re left the room, too, calling out a quick "nox" as he left. Harry climbed to his feet and trailed after the werewolf. Several times, Remus paused and sniffed the hallway with a confused expression on his face, and Harry was careful to stay very still.
But he didn't head for the forest. He didn't leave the castle at all. Instead, Uncle Re took the main staircase down to the dungeons. He stopped in front of Papa's private rooms and knocked on the edge of the portrait.
It swung open after only a moment. "Remus," Papa said, half a sneer on his face.
Uncle Re rolled his eyes. "Not now, Severus. I think something's going to happen. Something bad… and soon."
"That's helpful. So specific, and all," Papa muttered.
"I think Quirrell is going to make a move." Uncle Re rubbed his forehead. "We just had a meeting. He was acting very oddly… and he smelled odd, too."
Papa shrugged. "He forgot his weekly bath?"
"No," Remus growled. "This is serious… his smell was off. He smelled almost… oily. Grimy. I didn't want to be in the room with him."
"You think it's Quirrell, then?" Papa asked, lips pursed. "He seems so… worthless."
Remus sighed. "He does. But… it's the only lead I've got."
"I want Harry out of class with him, then," Papa replied. "If he's the one… what if he sets up something to hurt him in class?"
"He wouldn't. It would be stupid, it would out him to the whole staff. No… it would be something cunning. Some way we wouldn't be able to trace it to him, not while he was still around." Uncle Re shook his head. "Pulling him out of classes is only going to alert both of them to the fact that something is wrong. Quirrell will hurry his plans, and Harry… Harry will know that someone's after him. He'll be scared, and he won't know what's going on. He'll have questions."
"He already has questions."
"Then why don't you answer any of them?" Uncle Re took a step back into the hallway and peered around. "He's your son, Severus, and the choices are yours, of course… but I think keeping everything from him is only going to make it worse in the end."
Papa shook his head violently. "He's not ready to know. His mother - I think his mother would agree with me, about this. He's only eleven, Remus. An eleven-year-old shouldn't be afraid that someone's going to show up in the night and murder him."
"Not just someone," Uncle Re pointed out. "Not just anyone. This is the bleeding Lord of Darkness we're talking about! Voldemort himself wants your son dead, and if you don't tell him, he'll never be prepared for what he'll have to do, someday…"
"We shouldn't be talking about this out here. We shouldn't be talking about it at all," Papa said, shaking his head.
"We should. We have to. But… you're right. Not out here, not when one of those junior Death Eaters might walk by." Uncle Re pushed past Papa, into his quarters.
Papa growled. As he closed the portrait, Harry could hear him starting to argue. "Not all Slytherins are in league with the Dark, you know. And some Gryffindors I could name…"
Harry was leaning against the wall, trying desperately to keep from hyperventilating. There was a secret, a life changing secret, being kept from him. He was the target of the Darkest wizard in a hundred years - and he had no idea why.
------
He returned to the Common Room immediately, not even stopping when Mrs. Norris meowed in his direction. No one looked up as he entered, and he let the chameleon charm fade away. He noticed Hermione, Ron, and Neville working on homework near the window, but headed up the stairs to the dormitory instead.
Seamus and Dean were there. "Hey, mate," Seamus said. Dean gave a wave over the top of his Astronomy book.
Harry dug through his backpack and pulled out the lists of Jameses. There was only one he had yet to investigate. "Seamus?" he asked quietly, "were you in England when You Know Who fell?"
Seamus shook his head. "My family was living in Belfast. Why?"
"I was - just wondering." He took a deep breath. "What do you think happened to - to Harry Potter? Why is he not here?"
"My mum figures he's hiding out somewhere, waiting to come back until something's right. My da - well, my da's Muggle, so he was struck more by his mum being Muggleborn. Potter's, I mean. He thinks Harry Potter is living with Muggles, to protect him. A long time ago, there were bunches of sightings of him, living in Surrey. There haven't been any in years, so Da thinks they moved to the Continent to keep things quiet." Seamus shrugged. "Me? I think he'll show up, when it's time. After all, they say he didn't kill You Know Who. They say he's still out there, biding his time…"
Dean shuddered. "Stop talking about it. Sounds horrible."
"It was," Seamus said. "Me mum left, hid out with Muggles until it was over. That's how she met Da. She didn't tell him about magic at all, not until they were married, and she still has a Muggle job. Made me go to Muggle primary school, too, just in case You Know Who comes back and we have to leave in a hurry." Seamus looked over at Harry. "I expect your family came through it fine. You were in Greece."
Harry shook his head. "Papa fought," he said simply. "I lived with my aunt." He didn't mention that their home was in Surrey.
"Maybe he won't come back," Dean whispered. "Maybe you're all planning over nothing."
"I hope you're right," Seamus muttered.
Harry didn't say anything. He grabbed his History of Magic text and drew the curtains around his bed.
Instead of starting the homework he wouldn't be able to focus on, he flipped to the back of the text. The story was there, in abbreviated form. No mention of Harry Potter's parents was made; only his amazing childhood feat and subsequent disappearance were mentioned. It was the final sentence in the chapter that scared him the most: Headmaster Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry refused to reveal where the orphaned Boy Who Lived was taken after October 31, 1981, saying only that the boy was with relatives.
It was silly. It was a ridiculous thought. Harry knew that his mother's husband was probably James Rodgers, who graduated at the same time as Mater and Papa. But… Papa had said that someone was after him, or implied it, at least.
Harry had trouble sleeping, and spent most of the night dreaming of a woman screaming and flashes of green light.
------
He was down to the Common Room a good half an hour before even Hermione would emerge. There was good reason to track down his mother's husband now, if only to disprove his fledgeling theory.
"What are you doing here?" Madame Pince demanded, as she arrived outside of the library to open it up for the morning. "It's 7:30 in the morning!"
"Homework to finish," Harry mumbled.
After a searching glance, Madame Pince allowed him in. Harry rushed to the Daily Prophet back issues and dragged out the thick tome for 1981. The right day was easy to find - even ten years later, the edges of the paper flashed in a rainbow of colour. Harry Potter Defeats You Know Who read the headline in letters that took up a quarter of the page.
The first page story was about the aftermath, the exact event, the reasons why the Killing Curse might have rebounded. As Harry turned the page, he smothered a cry. Right there, larger than life, was a photograph of the man from the picture Papa had shown him, holding the infant Harry Potter. James Potter, with son Harry, the caption read. James Potter and his wife, Lily Potter, were killed in You Know Who's attack on their home in Godric's Hollow.
Harry slammed the volume shut and fled, ignoring Madame Pince's angry shouts. It couldn't be. There was no way that it was him, that he could be Harry Potter. Harry wasn't even his real name! He was Herodos! Wasn't he? It had to be a coincidence, a terrible and frightening coincidence. There had to be lots of people named Lily in all the British Isles.
Weren't there?
------
"Where were you?" Hermione demanded as Harry crept into breakfast. "Ron and Neville couldn't find you anywhere! I was starting to wonder if you'd snuck out last night and got caught by Filch!"
Harry shook his head mutely.
Neville frowned. "What's wrong? You look like you've walked through a ghost!"
"Papa and Uncle Re -" Harry choked and cut himself off. There was no way he could tell his friends. What was he supposed to say to them, anyway? "Oh, good morning, pass the corn flakes - and, by the way, I'm actually Harry Potter." They'd think he was mad. Or, maybe worse, they'd think he was serious. Harry wasn't a hero. He wasn't special at all. Harry Potter had a scar on his forehead - all Herodos Snape had was a patch of annoying dry skin. "I just found something out," he finally settled on.
"Is it about the phil- the, er, you know what?" Ron asked.
Harry started to shake his head, but thought back to the vials of unicorn blood in the Defense classroom. He'd meant to tell them, and since it wasn't Remus, it would be okay. Plus, he could keep them off the scent of the real surprise - who Harry was. "There were vials of unicorn blood in the Defense classroom. Malfoy found them, during detention, before the holiday. I - I thought it might be Uncle Re. I followed him last night, trying to see if he was going to the Forbidden Forest, but he went to talk to Papa instead. About me. And - and my headaches."
Harry paused. What were his headaches? Now that he thought about it, his head always hurt in the same place, just where Harry Potter was supposed to have a scar, and he had a patch of dry skin. Was he some sort of super-Dark Curse detector, now? It could be useful, especially if Kyrios Voldemort really would be coming after him someday. Right now, it just hurt in the Defense classroom… and Uncle Re had a Dark Curse on him…
"So that's why you asked about it that night… I'd wondered… but what does unicorn blood have to do with your headaches?" Hermione asked. "It doesn't make sense."
Ron shrugged. "Hagrid told me there'd been two unicorn killings. One was quite a while ago, just before school started up."
"Should we be following Professor Lupin, then?" Neville asked. "Since you didn't find anything, Harry?"
He shook his head. "It's not him. It's - I think it's Professor Quirrell."
"That's preposterous!" Hermione exclaimed. "He's - he stutters, and he's afraid of his own shadow! He'd be far too cowardly to attack a unicorn. It takes true evil to destroy a completely pure creature. I don't think Professor Quirrell is capable of it!"
"Papa and Uncle Re were worried." Harry sighed and scratched his forehead. It wasn't Uncle Re it was reacting to, in the Defense classroom. It was Quirrell, cursed by the Unicorn blood. It had to be. "Papa wanted to take me out of class, when Quirrell was teaching."
Neville frowned. "If he's that dangerous, why is Headmaster Dumbledore letting him teach?"
"I don't know," Harry said. "There must be another reason."
"We have class," Hermione pointed out, "and there are too many people here. We should talk about it later." She didn't allow the others time to put in their opinions. Instead, she got to her feet, snagged Neville's sleeve, and started marching off. Neville was forced to follow, and Ron wasn't much behind.
Harry hung back and looked up to the Head Table, where Papa and Uncle Re were deep in conversation. Papa looked over to Harry and smiled. Harry simply turned and left.
------
Professor Lupin prowled around the classroom in the most lupine manner in Harry's memory of the man. Professor Quirrell wasn't attending class at all - Harry wondered if the man was out killing unicorns at that very moment. It didn't seem very likely, though: the image of spindly Quirrell in his enormous purple turban taking on a unicorn did nothing more than cause Harry to snort in amusement when he thought of it. Unfortunately, Uncle Re was close enough to overhear him.
He bounded over and leaned against the table, looking like nothing so much as an angry predator stalking his prey. "You think grindylows are funny, Mr. Snape?"
"Er - no! No, sir," Harry stuttered, trying not to slump into his seat. Even Neville looked a bit taken aback by the professor's strong reaction to a simple giggle.
"Danger is nothing to laugh at, ever. Especially for you. But for all of you, here. Mr. Longbottom, how do you escape a Grindylow?"
Neville gulped. "You - er - break its grip?"
"Yes. But, if you're smart, you won't be close enough for it to grab you in the first place." Sitting directly behind Neville and Harry's table were Ron and Hermione. Harry had a terrible feeling he'd just brought attention to the whole section of the room. "Weasley - how do you survive a vampire attack?"
Harry turned slightly in his chair to see Ron sinking in his seat. They hadn't covered vampires, yet. The question was completely unfair. "Er - s-stake to the heart… or, or behead it… um, garlic…?"
"Wrong," Uncle Re snapped. "You run. Granger - how do you survive the Killing Curse?"
"There's no way to survive it!" Hermione protested. "Only Harry Potter could do it - and no one knows why!"
"Wrong," Uncle Re repeated. He focused on Harry. "Maybe you can answer. How do you survive the Killing Curse, Harry?"
In the back of his mind, there was a flash of green light and a woman screaming. Harry looked down at the ground and hoped Uncle Re couldn't somehow read what he knew from his very gaze. "Don't put yourself on the receiving end of one," Harry whispered.
"Five points to Gryffindor," Professor Lupin said. He stepped back and focused on the rest of the classroom. "There you have it. The most important lesson you can learn: the first step in surviving the Dark Arts is simple avoidance. Perhaps I should have given you the speech earlier, but I thought it unnecessary. However… there are some students who think they can save the world themselves."
Harry's face burned. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Neville looking anywhere but at the Professor.
"Defending oneself against the Dark Arts is not a laughing matter, Mr. Snape. It's not so simple as memorising the textbook, Ms. Granger, nor is it anything like these simple practicals we've been having, Mr. Longbottom." He turned suddenly, focusing on Harry again. "This may be the most important class you ever take. Some of you will face more Darkness than others."
And then, finally, he retreated to the front of the classroom. The grindylow threw itself against the glass of its cage. "There ends the lesson," Professor Lupin said, simply. He turned and swept off toward his office, leaving his class in silent awe.
------
"Do you think Quirrell's been sacked?" Neville whispered as they filed out. "Do you think Professor Lupin told the Headmaster, and that's why he wasn't here?"
"I think he was getting more unicorn blood," Ron said.
Harry shook his head. "I thought that, too, but… what's in the castle at this very moment, guarded and able to undo the unicorn blood curse?"
"Just what I was thinking," Hermione said. "He's after the Stone - and he'll use it to undo whatever's happened to him."
The four of them ducked into a side passage to avoid prying ears. "What if it's not for him!" Neville exclaimed. "Professor Quirrell tells stories about Romania, and there are evil things in Romania. What if he's using the blood on one of them? He smells like garlic all the time - what if it's for a vampire?"
"Yeah! He could be trying to bring a vampire back to life. You know, Fred and George told me that a master vampire was hunting Quirrell. Maybe he's planning to make it mortal, so it'll leave him alone?" Ron said. He shrugged as Hermione gave a sceptical look. "What? It's as good a thought as any."
"Why go to all the trouble of resurrecting a vampire?" Hermione said. "Professor Quirrell could simply stake it and be done with the whole mess."
"He wouldn't be so daft as to put a curse on himself," Neville argued. "It's got to be for someone else!"
Harry agreed with Neville. "There are Darker things than vampires in Romania," Harry said softly.
He caught the attention of the other three in an instant. "Oh? Like what?" Ron asked.
Maybe it would be best not to tell… but Hermione looked ready to dip into research, Neville looked ready to stand at his side, and Ron was raring to go. "Papa and Uncle Re think Voldemort is there."
"That's ridiculous! Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't allow Professor Quirrell to remain a teacher if he were helping his greatest enemy in any way!" Hermione shook her head. "Harry, it's something big, but not like that."
Harry disagreed, but he wouldn't bring it up when Hermione was dead set against it. Instead, he staid silent as the others fought over whether a vampire or Quirrell himself were more likely targets. Harry just rubbed at the ache in his forehead and wondered if he'd ever be rid of it - and if he'd ever be able to live without looking over his shoulders, again.