Summary: Maybe Hermione was right. I mean, only people with major hero complexes would save someone they didn't even like, even if it meant their lives would be ruined. This is all Dudley's fault. (Harry's perspective, slight HG and RH.)
AN: This idea just happened to pop in my head. I mean, it is Halloween and all, and I've been watching a lot of movies with this topic that I won't reveal just yet but you'll find out soon. I know it's been done before, but I'm going to go out of my way to make it original and completely my own. Please R&R and I'll be happy. I don't read flames because they aren't worth my time—but please, if you don't like this, then tell me why instead of telling me my story sucks without a plausible reason.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter anymore than my dog is the president of the United States (even if the intellect of the president isn't too far off.)
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It was dark outside, and the rain poured ruthlessly on my cold, shivering figure. The rain had been ceaseless for days, resulting in the sky being the same uncharacteristic and melancholy grey, and the ground becoming a mud-covered wasteland. Right now, I was sitting in one of the swings that had managed to stay unscathed from Dudley's gang, watching my trainers irregularly kick the ground as the formed a large muddy puddle. My glasses were fogged and I could hardly see, but at the moment I didn't care. Sirius was gone, and it was my fault. For many nights, the nightmare had replayed in my head: Sirius' face contorting into terror just before he had fallen into that veil, Bellatrix shrieking in insane, triumphant laughter at his downfall. I would wake up, hand outstretched, hoping to maybe grasp his shirt and prevent him from his fall.
If I was the one destined to defeat Voldemort, then why had I been handed so many misfortunes in my life? If I had the power to save the world, why can't I be granted at least a little bit of happiness? Why do the ones I love always have to die? Maybe I was being childish and selfish, but that was how I felt. I had decided to shove my friends away so that maybe they wouldn't die as well—So that they wouldn't perish in my cause, just like mum, dad, Cedric, Sirius, and so many others. I didn't answer Ron and Hermione's letters anymore. The only person I had answered to this summer was Ginny, who had decided to send me a howler telling me that I shouldn't avoid my friends who cared so much about me. In return, I gave her an explanation to why I didn't answer Ron and Hermione, and she didn't respond after that.
Maybe it was because she felt the same way once, or maybe it was because she understood how I felt and wanted to respect that. Maybe she even thought I made sense and now wanted to stay away from me as well. I'm not fantastic at reading people. Actually, 'reading people' probably wasn't the right term. I could imagine Snape's disgusted expression, saying, "People aren't books you can open and read, Potter..."
Anyway, I noticed Dudley and his gang laughing in the downpour about how "Jimmy will never bother us again" and "You sure showed him, Big D." Tell me again why I had bothered saving Dudley from the Dementors last year? Oh, right. My stupid hero complex.
Dudley had waved them off eventually, and then he set off himself. He whistled cheerfully, kicking a rock down the street, and was illuminated momentarily by a streetlight. The instant he had passed the streetlight, however, I noticed a pair of yellow lamp like eyes watching him from a dark alley. At first, I had absurdly mistaken it for Mrs. Norris. Then the figure pulled itself out of the alley, revealing a large grey wolf, its hackles raised, stealthily tracking my very large cousin. I looked up towards the sky and noticed a full moon partially covered by a mass of grey clouds. As anyone with half a brain could tell, this wasn't a good sign.
Stupidly, I ran towards Dudley's defense, whipping out my wand. The wolf had spotted me coming, but knew I wasn't a threat, and it focused it's attention back to the whale I call my cousin.
"Dudley, RUN!" I shouted, starting to wish that I had cared about my foggy glasses a while ago, because they were really beginning to hinder my sight. I heard Dudley give a whimper, but I didn't know if he ran for safety like I told him to.
I threw myself in front of the wolf, obstructing its view from Dudley, and ended up being tackled to the ground. The wolf gnashed its large jaws right in front of my face as slobber ran down the side of its mouth. Had I provoked it further, it probably could've ripped my face off. I rolled out from under it and cast spells ranging from Stupefy to Wingardium Leviosa, but I only managed in making the beast angry. Again, the wolf had tackled me to the ground, and growled ferociously.
It dug its big, bear like claws into my shoulder, and I yelled out in pain. I tried to push the beast off, but I couldn't budge it. Crazed yellow eyes regarded me mockingly, enjoying my helpless struggle as I tried yelling, kicking, and even biting. (Insert pause while I cough up a hairball.) My last memory of that night was of the werewolf lowering its jaw, sinking its large fangs into my neck.
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I woke up the next morning (I think, but for all I knew, it could've been the next week) with a considerably large headache. My glasses were gone, my shirt was torn from the shoulder to about my mid-chest area, and furthermore, I was behind a bush in an unknown forest with the carcass of a dead deer by my side. Just lovely.
Even with my nearsightedness, I could tell that the wound I had gotten last night was infected and probably looked really gross even from a far distance. Yellowish gunk was slowly pooling out of the deep laceration, and blood had encrusted itself around it. I wearily pulled myself up from my uncomfortable position on the ground, stretching. So it seemed I was a werewolf now. Another lemon life decided to hand me just for the pleasure of seeing my life evaporate into a series of misfortunes.
I noticed my senses were a lot stronger than they had been the night before, but not overwhelmingly so. Colors were brighter and sharper; I could easily hear the wind whistle even though the gust was only strong enough to slightly tickle the blades of grass, and the smells—I could smell the wildflowers from where I stood even though they weren't close to me in the slightest. The sensation of my change hadn't hit me until now, and it felt very exhilarating to see, hear, and smell better than I ever had before.
Along with good things, there were also bad things. I had no bloody idea where I was, I could no longer enjoy the sight of a full moon without turning into a hideous beast with a need for blood, and I was nearly shirtless with a nasty cut on my shoulder that hurt like hell. People were bound to ask questions and then ask me if I needed to go to a hospital once they saw the goopy yellow and red mess on my shoulder. Then there was the probability that I might be too far from Privet Drive to simply walk back.
I pulled off my shirt and I fixed it using my wand, deciding to use the excuse that muggles would ask questions. I had already used about ten spells last night, so using another spell couldn't possibly hurt anything. After I had thrown my repaired shirt back on, I shoved my wand in my pocket and ran my hand nervously through my hair. What could I tell Dumbledore? I had been kidnapped by Deatheaters? I hardly wanted to tell him that I was a werewolf now; he had enough stress on his shoulders without knowing that the savior of the world was a dark creature.
I sighed angrily, at a loss for what to do. Luckily, I was saved a few hours of pondering when Hedwig showed up, hooting worriedly at me. Smart bird.
"Well, looks like you'll need to stay away from me on full moons," I said to her, holding out my arm so she could perch there. Hedwig cocked her head slightly to the side. "Do you know a way out of the forest?" I asked. She nodded, and promptly flew through the thick trees, twisting and turning carefully when a branch got in her way. I had followed her, parting my way through the furled underbrush, and when approximately an hour had passed (after I had been attacked by many bugs, some branches, and a pigeon) we had found ourselves by a deserted dirt road. Far in the distance I could see a few log cabins on top of perfect grassy hills, chimneys billowing with smoke. I ran my hand nervously through my messy hair and headed towards that direction with Hedwig sitting on my shoulder. If the inhabitants of the houses were wizards, then great; if they weren't, at least I might be able to call the Weasley's and find a way out of this mess.
As soon as I had gotten to the nearest house's door, I waved Hedwig off, telling her to follow me if I left the house. I knocked on the wooden door, and waited. It had been an elderly woman wearing a flannel shirt that had opened the door, questioning, "What do you need?"
"Um, do you have a phone I can use? I, er, got lost in the woods."
"Yeah, come on in. I'm Ethel, and you are?" She asked, closing the door behind me.
"Harry."
"Nice to meet you. Phone is in the other room."
I nodded subserviently, and then went to find the phone. It was old fashioned; a nasty green color with a cord and a circular dial that took a moment for me to figure out. I dialed the number to Ron's house, figuring that calling a Wizarding home would be more convenient than calling Hermione's house.
"Weasley residence," said an answering voice, sounding very muffled. I could just barely tell it was Mr. Weasley.
"Mr. Weasley, your phone is upside down." I said.
"Oh, right," Mr. Weasley replied. He turned the phone right side up, paused, and then he said incredulously, "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank Merlin! Molly's been worried sick, and the ministry...where are you? And what on earth happened?"
"Um...I'm not necessarily sure...Deatheaters attacked me while I was out at the park." I said lamely.
"Deatheaters? Then why—Never mind, we'll find you, and ask questions later." Mr. Weasley said quickly. "Just—stay put. Don't leave wherever you're at. I'll send Lupin, he's the only one free tonight, for obvious reasons."
The reason being, that Lupin was too weak from the full moon last night to do anything that was considered too active.
"Sure." I replied. It wasn't like I had anywhere else to go. The phone clicked off and the dial sounded. I put Ethel's phone back in the receiver, and went to her living room where she sat, watching her television.
"Erm...D'you mind if I stayed here for a bit while someone comes to pick me up?" I asked.
"Of course I don't mind," she said, then turned back to her television.
"Okay..." I said slowly. "I'm just going to wait on the porch. Thanks for letting me use your phone."
"Not a problem. Bye." She said.
"Bye." I replied, and walked out the door. Somehow, she really didn't seem all that talkative. I waited on the porch steps for someone to come by. Apparently, it took awhile to find even a wizard. Soon enough, I heard a loud crack and Lupin was by my side.
"Erm, Professor, I think this is a muggle neighborhood." I said, but he didn't seen to hear me. He was staring transfixed at my shoulder with a look of dawning comprehension on his face. My face paled quickly.
"You aren't going to tell Dumbledore, are you?" I asked.
"Of course...Arthur was wondering why a Deatheater would simply abandon you in a forest instead of taking you to Voldemort or killing you, but instead..."
"My cousin got attacked by a werewolf and I stupidly got in the middle of it." I finished. "But answer me: you aren't going to tell anyone, right?"
At that moment, Ethel came out with a loaded shotgun in her hands, and asked, "Anyone hear a gunshot?"
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Yeah, lame ending, I know. But if I had continued Remus and Harry's convo, they would've gone on forever. Anyway—review, review, review! You get E-Candy if you do. ;)