Title: Full Moon Rising

Author: daemonwolf

Rating: PG-13

Notes: Heh... I seem to be doing this a lot lately: my deepest apologies for the extraordinarily (even for me!) long wait for this chapter. Foolish girl I am, I decided to write the original on my laptop ... which is currently without an internet connection OR a floppy drive. So this chapter may have had to wait for another month or so, but for a stroke of luck—the laptop just to be WiFi capable, and someone else just to be within range of the sensor. Ergo, I got this chapter e-mailed to myself so I could finish it up on the computer that connected to the 'net, and finally deliver it into your waiting paws. So, thanks so much for being patient with me—I promise not to make that mistake again.

Now, for those long-awaited replies:

Hakkai: (sorry, I've given up on trying to type your full name without having to check back at the review any number of a hundred times to be sure I spelled it right) ::snickers:: I'd hate to see what would happen if Dudley tried something like that...

Lonlyheart: you're very welcome! And as I promised (albeit, a bit late), here's the next one!

Black-Raven: glad I've peaked your interest... hope this rejuvenates it!

Hermioneluver: lol, thanks for the understanding... hopefully no one's quite at the point of holding me at knifepoint for an update... ::watches as reviewers raise daggers and kitchen cutlery:: er, guys? Ah heh... ::sweatdrop:: look! See! Update! Please don't kill me... ::reviewers lower weapons:: phew...

HarryPFan: er... you mean soon as in, within the next century, right? ::laughs nervously::... sorry to keep you waiting.

HecateDeMort: love the penname, by the bye. Here's more for yah!

Shadowed Rains: giddy, huh? That's a dangerous state of mind... could lead to much bouncing off of walls and exclamation points. Here, quick! Take Nyquil! ::chucks a bottle of Nyquil::

Shell: glad you liked chapter five... hopefully you didn't stop there, but thank you tons for the translation! Soon as I can I'll re-post chap. five with the correct version.

Final Spirit: Hey! Welcome back! Glad you liked the chapter, here's the next one!

Anitajane: glad you liked it, here's the next one!

Suicidal-bunnies: another one with an odd penname... anywho, to answer your questions: No, James and Lily are not alive; I stick to canon on that much at least... everything else though is up in the air. However, I do have a fic that takes place before the botched Halloween murders called His Lycan Lily that can be found in my bio. Come to think of it, that one's been aching for an update as well... hmm.. ::makes mental note:: as for the lack of update... ::eyes axe:: please don't kill me! I'll never be able to update if you do!

Hermione21: As I mentioned to Suicidal-bunnies, the story sticks pretty much to canon on the subject of Harry's past and his living conditions. Which means, yes Sirius is in Azkaban and no, Remus will not be taking him to Diagon Alley. Everyone still thinks he's still human, so Hagrid will be making the trip like in the books.

Full Moon Rising

Chapter Eight: Diagonal Adventures

The next day dawned cool for late July; dew covered most of the grass that had not yet been touched by the sun. Number Four, Privet Drive lay mostly in shadow, save for a patch of backyard that was angled such that it always received sunlight before the rest of the household. It was in this patch that a certain black-haired, green-eyed young boy laid, a letter clutched in one hand as he slept peacefully with a smile on his face. As the sun's warm tendrils brushed his face, he stirred slightly, smile widening. It wasn't long, however, before the warm tendrils of sunshine became almost an unbearable heat against his eyelids and he was forced to open them.

The sleepy smile was still affixed on his face as he uncurled from his position on the ground and stretched languidly. His back chose that moment to remind him of the somewhat awkward position he had spent the night in, and the sleepy smile was quickly replaced with a grimace of pain. With a final yawn, the Boy Who Lived levered himself up off the grass, shaking the dew from his hair. Letter in hand, he pushed open the glass door leading to the kitchen and entered the still-quiet house. That's the second time I've done that in as many weeks, the boy thought ruefully as he rubbed his neck, which had joined his back in proclaiming their displeasure in his choice of sleeping positions. He padded through the house quietly, giving a cursory glance to the hall mirror to see just how rumpled the night left him. What he saw there gave him pause—the golden eyes and fangs of the night before had disappeared, leaving him looking as normal as any other almost-eleven year old boy. Something was missing, though, and Harry had to stare at the mirror for quite some time before he realized I don't have my glasses! He felt his face, just to be certain, but it was no illusion—somehow his vision had corrected itself during the night, leaving him with near-perfect eyes. Excellent, he smiled, baring a double row of even human teeth. Ah well, he sighed silently. Can't have everything, I suppose. With a final smile at his reflection, Harry trooped upstairs toward his original goal—the bathroom.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Harry walked back downstairs to gobble down a breakfast of toast and eggs before heading outside to await the stirrings of the rest of the family. Twenty minutes later, he was shaken out of his latest daydream by the call of his aunt to make breakfast for herself and her son. Vernon had yet to show his face outside the room he shared with Petunia. Harry smiled inwardly and got up obediently to do his aunt's bidding.

By the week's end, life was back to a semblance of normalcy within the Dursley household. Vernon was still petrified of his young charge, but had managed to ignore the boy for the most part as he went about his business. Petunia still demanded as much from the young wizard as ever, but she made certain not to rile the boy's temper by 'pulling a Vernon'. For the most part where Harry was concerned, he felt safe in the knowledge that he would be leaving his relations by the end of the following month and so had no compunction to terrorize the already frightened Dursleys. He was far from content, but it would do for now.

The end of the week also brought about a happy event—at least where Harry was concerned. On Friday, at the stroke of midnight, he turned eleven years old. Although the next day did not bring any presents (or recognition, for that matter), it was enough for Harry that one more day had passed, and he was one day closer to finally attending Hogwarts. The day was still young when a knock on the door startled the Dursleys out of their late breakfast, which Harry was currently in the process of serving. The newly-minted eleven year old quirked an eyebrow at his uncle as if to ask, 'shall I get that?' Vernon's glare was equally expressive, saying, 'not on your life, boy,' as he shoved backward from the table in haste to beat his nephew to the door. Harry simply watched his uncle waddle as quickly as was possible for the portly man in amusement, and went back to his serving duties, all the while keeping one ear on the conversation at the door. So busy was he in his tasks that he didn't notice his ears slide back up his head and become more canine-like. Nor did he notice the fact that although the conversation was being held at the far end of the hall, he could hear every word as if it was being held right next to him. Petunia noticed his ears migrate from their normal place on the boy's head, however, and fainted dead away. Dudley was too busy inhaling his sausage to notice anything.

"Can I help you?" Came Vernon's voice from down the hall.

"Er, yeh. I'm 'ere t'collect 'Arry Potter t'get 'is supplies."

"Supplies?" Vernon's voice was tinged with surprise and disgust.

"Yeh. 'E here?"

"Sorry, sir, you must have the wrong house. There is no 'Harry Potter' living—" Vernon was cut off suddenly by a crash in the kitchen. The crash was immediately followed by the Boy-Who-Lived himself in partial werewolf regalia—ears perched atop his head, teeth slightly pointed and eyes blazing a violent mixture of green and yellow as he stormed up to his uncle.

"You were saying?" The boy's voice carried an undertone of violence as his disserting eyes bored into his uncle's brown ones.

"Um…" Vernon gulped audibly. "S-sorry, sir. I w-was mistaken. I-I thought you meant um… Larry Copper. F-forgive my slip of the tongue. Just a m-misunderstanding between friends, eh?" He tried to wink jovially, but it ended up looking like he was on the verge of tears. "I-I'll just be going then. No need to keep breakfast waiting!" With a high false laugh, he excused himself hurriedly and waddled even faster back down the hallway to his wife and son.

Harry watched his uncle's retreat with a great show of amusement. The smirk was still present on his long-toothed mouth as he turned to face the new arrival. They stared at one another for a long moment—Harry trying to figure out just who he was, while the new arrival was doing a pondering of a similar sort, only he was trying to figure out just what Harry was.

"Erm… I guess tha' you're 'Arry then, righ'?"

Harry blinked, and the new arrival would swear later that he saw the gold drain from the boy's eyes as he calmed down.

"Yeah, I'm him," Harry replied with a small smile. "Who're you?"

"Er… 'Agrid's the name," the half-giant muttered absentmindedly as he was treated to another very strange sight—Harry's ears had retreated from their tufted positions at the apex of his skull to their normal typically human positions on either side of his eyes. As soon as the boy's ears returned to normal, the one called Hagrid shook himself violently and held out a rather large hand to introduce himself properly. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Grounds and Keys at Hogwarts."

Harry slipped his small hand into the half-giant's, slightly awe-struck at the sheer size of the man. Hagrid smiled at the small boy's reaction and told the boy why he had come. "Ye've got to have school supplies, ain't ye? We're goin' down to Diagon Alley for the lot of 'em."

Harry only grinned in reply and followed the large man out the door. At the end of the driveway, Hagrid did a rather curious thing, Harry thought. He looked surreptitiously up and down the street twice before tentatively holding aloft his left hand. A few moments later a loud CRACK resounded up and down the street, blowing Harry clean off his feet. In front of the two males, where once was naught but clean air and bright sunshine, now stood the most outlandish bus Harry had ever seen in his short life. Hagrid grinned at the boy's flabbergasted reaction and motioned Harry aboard after helping the boy to his feet. "Welcome ter th' Dae Bus, 'Arry." Harry could only nod as he stepped aboard the vomit-yellow bus. The insides were not much better. Yellow was apparently the theme of the day, as everything—from the squashy overstuffed chairs to the wheel and dangly fuzzy dice at the driver's seat were of similar shades as the outer décor.

"Oh lord," whispered Harry fervently, not paying attention to Hagrid as the man paid the conductor and finally had to steer Harry down the aisle to his own chair. Four hours later (the bus had been in the middle of Wales when Hagrid had raised his hand and had had quite the busy schedule), Harry sighed gratefully as he stepped from the Dae Bus to the ground outside the Leaky Cauldron tavern. Hagrid stepped off the bus looking just as thankful to be getting his own feet on solid ground. A few moments leaning against one of the lampposts outside the inn and the large man was ready to head in. He held open the door for the small boy, before entering himself and steering his charge passed the group of wizards gathered at the bar all the while grumbling about 'scars' and 'slobbering twits'. Harry would've asked what he was talking about, but they had arrived at what apparently was their destination—a brick wall in the back of the inn.

"Umm," Harry began, but Hagrid was oblivious as he pulled a rather large pink umbrella from his inner coat pocket and pointed to a few of the bricks on the wall.

"Now, was it three ter th' left an' two up? Or was it th'other way 'round?" Fortunately, he hit upon the correct combination before long, and stepped back to watch as the bricks shifted to form an archway. Hagrid noticed Harry's awed glance and with a quiet chuckle led the boy under the arch and into Diagon Alley.

Harry's first impression of the area was one of typical London over-crowding, but as his brain finally began to register what he was seeing, he knew that the over-crowding experienced by Diagon Alley was anything but typical. Harry soon realized, however, that the seeming lack of space was only partly due to the sheer number of people crowded into the alley. There was another rather odd contributing factor—most of the buildings of the alley seemed to have been built with little regard to typical architectural methods. Hell, some loomed out over the street so far, Harry was afraid they would tip over on top of the crowd at any moment! He cringed when Hagrid led him under one of the more precariously perched buildings, but the building stayed put and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as they left "Ziggy's Ziggurats" behind.

Hagrid led the boy up to a white marble structure looking thankfully solid, and stopped him outside the double doors. "This 'ere's Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. Safest place in'ner world, tha' tis. Aside from 'Ogwarts, o'course." Harry merely nodded and followed the giant of a man into the bank. He found himself in a richly decorated hallway—at least, that was what it would've been had the 'hallway' not been lined with tall desks stacked high with papers all the way down to the end, where a single door marked the entrance to only gods-knew-where. What shocked Harry the most, however, was the fact that the tellers sitting (or standing, he was unable to tell) at the desks were not human at all. They were in fact quite ugly with the sort of faces one expected on a Hallowe'en mask—not a living, breathing creature.

Hagrid perceptively noticed Harry's discomfort, and was quick to whisper an explanation: "These are the keepers of Gringotts—goblins, all of 'em. Very quick to distrust, an' 'onest ter a fault, they are. Makes 'em th' perfect guardians fer th' bank." Harry nodded warily, his nails lengthening slightly in his unease. He kept quiet, however, and watched curiously as Hagrid went through the motions necessary to withdraw money and items from the bank. As he finished, another goblin walked up and introduced himself as Griphook, explaining that he would be the one to actually take the two down to their vaults.

Hagrid, for whatever reason Harry could not imagine, looked a tad nervous and even queasy as the goblin led the way to the door at the end of the hallway. Harry was in the process of wondering just what the large man could be frightened of when the door opened to reveal...a single mine-cart. Harry looked up at Hagrid in confusion, but followed the goblin into the cart. Hagrid brought up the rear, albeit hesitantly.

With everyone on board, the mine-cart zoomed off into the darkness of the bank. Harry laughed as the cart careened around tight corners and more than once almost fell off the track as it traveled down to Harry's vault. Too soon the ride was over, and Hagrid practically leapt out of the cart to get his feet on solid ground again. Harry followed more slowly, sorry that the ride was over. The goblin Griphook shouldered past him and the large man to stand at the side of the vault. "Key, please."

Hagrid fished about in his coat for a bit, then handed the goblin Harry's key, along with a stray dog biscuit. "Oops," the half-giant said as he quickly stuffed the biscuit back in his coat. Griphook gave the man a look of disgust before putting key to lock and opening the vault door.

Harry almost fell down when he saw the sheer number of gold, silver, and bronze coins piled in his vault. Hagrid watched the boy, amusement plain on his face as he moved over to Harry's side and closed the eleven-year-old's mouth. "You'll catch flies, that way," he admonished before handing an empty bag to Harry. "Put yer money in there; not a lot, mind ye, ye've still got six more years of school ter pay fer."

Harry took the bag and walked into his vault. Hagrid provided some helpful information as Harry busied himself by scooping up handfuls of coins. "Th' bronze one's are Knuts. Next up in value are the Sickles; those're the silver ones. The gold ones're the most valuable; they're called Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough ter remember." As soon as Harry finished, Griphook herded both man and boy back into the mine-cart, which took off to the next stop on the itinerary, Vault 713.

Half an hour later, Hagrid and Harry walked out of the Wizarding Bank. Harry took a look around the Alley with a slightly crazed windblown grin plastered on his face. Hagrid looked less than pleased, and more than a little green around the gills. Quickly he steered the boy to Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions before running back to the Leaky Cauldron for a pick-me-up.

Harry was met at the door by Madame Malkin herself, and was taken to the back to be fitted for his robes. Another boy was already standing on one of the stools, a look of abject boredom on his face. His eyes brightened slightly as Harry entered the room, but he quickly resumed the façade that had been drummed into him since birth. "You Hogwarts too?" he asked in a bored tone.

Harry took a moment to study the boy. He was scrawny for an eleven-year-old, with silver locks slicked back over his skull. The boy had the air of an aristocrat, as well as the condescending stare that went along with it. The boy's superior air rankled, so Harry answered with the tone he normally reserved for his cousin when Harry was preventing some form of bullying. "Yeah, so?"

The boy ignored the hidden warning and continued on. "Me too. D'you know what house you'll be in?" Harry only looked at the boy in confusion. "You know, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw. I know I'm going to be in Slytherin. All my family was. You're not a Muggleborn, are you?"

Harry only raised an eyebrow. "A what?"

"Muggleborn. You must be, if you don't even know what it is. Father says Hogwarts shouldn't let Muggleborns in—they're all inferior, or diseased, or something."

Harry growled softly. "Really. Well, your father might want to be careful around whom he says such things. Some people might take offence." Gold leeched into emerald eyes as Harry stared at the boy, who blanched an even paler color than he already was. Fortunately for the boy, Madame Malkin chose the moment to tell him he was done, and the boy jumped down off the stool before running outside with his purchases. Harry merely snorted softly and rolled his eyes as he allowed Madame Malkin to measure him for his robes.

Twenty minutes later, Harry left the shop with an armful of clothing to search for Hagrid. He found the man outside Flourish and Blott's, the magical bookshop. Hagrid was staring wistfully at one of the new textbooks being modeled in the front window—a teacher's guide to all manner of magical beasts. Unfortunately for Hagrid, one had to actually be a teacher in order to purchase the book. With a frustrated sigh, Hagrid took Harry inside. They emerged from the bookshop in about ten minutes, a stack of books split between the two of them. Harry and Hagrid then picked up the remainder of Harry's supplies in quick succession, until only a wand was left.

The tail-end of a conversation could be heard from nearby the Alley as Harry and Hagrid walked toward Ollivander's. "Hagrid, do I have to go back home?"

"'Onestly, 'Arry, I don't know. Yeh should go back, but if Dumbledore says it's alrigh' then I guess yeh don'..." Hagrid seemed uncertain, but couldn't resist the boy's pleading eyes. "Alrigh'. I'll ask 'im, but don' expect anythin' of it, 'kay?"

Harry grinned. "Alright." He was still smiling as they opened the door to Ollivander's and stepped inside.

The interior of the store reminded Harry of the time he had been 'elected' to clean the Dursleys' attic. From top to bottom, the entire shop was covered in dust. Makes sense, really, if Ollivander has been in business since 382 BC, Harry thought as he surveyed the shop. Shortly thereafter, a spry old man poked his head out from behind one of the shelves. "Ah, Mister Potter, I see. Come to get your wand?" At Harry's nod, the gray-haired man smiled secretly and walked up next to Harry, plucking what looked like a tape measure from the counter as he went. "Now, which is your wand arm?" Harry raised his right arm hesitantly, but Ollivander simply nodded and set about the task of measuring his limb.

After a minute or so the measurements were complete, though Harry for the life of him could not figure out what importance the distance between his nostrils had in his choice of wand. Ollivander had disappeared back into the stacks of wands, and after a moment, his disembodied voice rang out in the shop as he made his way back to the boy, boxes of wands in hand. "Ah, here we are! Holly and dragon heartstring, six inches." He handed the wand to Harry, who was barely able to flick the thing before Ollivander snatched it back. "No, no, try this one. Maple and unicorn hair, twelve inches." Again, Harry waved the wand, only to have the odd shopkeeper snatch it back. Things continued in this same vein, with Ollivander offering up odd combinations of wood and core, only to reject them as soon as they touched the young boy's hand. Finally out of desperation Ollivander vanished to the very back of his shop, digging through boxes that hadn't seen the light of day for many a year.

"Ah hah! Mister Potter, I think you'll like this one. An odd combination it is, even for myself. Fir and the heartstring of a werewolf, thirteen inches." Gently, the old man handed the wand to the young wizard, who gave it a tired wave. However, instead of being snatched back, the wand began to emit a soft yellow light, and although Harry had to strain to hear, the soft tones of a lupine howl reached his ear. He smiled as the music washed over him, his half-closed eyes glowing a brighter shade of green than normal. As Harry came back to reality, the batty old shopkeeper grinned at him. "A strange combination, as well as a strange history are hidden in that wand. Ask sometime and I will recount it for you." Hagrid glanced oddly at Harry, but the boy only nodded, dazed. He paid for the wand automatically and left the store, the howl still ringing in his ears.

The rest of the day went quickly after that—Harry and Hagrid stopped in at the bookshop, Flourish and Blotts and the local apothecary for potions supplies. They were headed back to the Leaky Cauldron when Harry didn't so much see as felt something tugging at him from the next shop, Magical Menagerie. Hagrid came along eagerly, always on the lookout for a new pet. As the pair entered the shop, Harry could feel the presence tug at him more forcefully, and he spun about, looking for it until he was able to sense the tug originating from the large cage of cats on one side of the shop wall. Obediently Harry approached the cage and looked in. Dozens of kittens romped around the center of the cage while the adults looked on from the sidelines. Harry spotted a dozen and more different colors, ranging from a tawny ginger to a speckled calico, and even some strange green and orange combination that looked like it had gotten caught in Ireland at the wrong time. However, Harry's instincts made his eyes slide over all the kittens, as well as most of the adults until his gaze locked with the greenest gaze he'd ever seen apart from his own eyes. The eyes belonged to what looked like a half-grown black cat, for it was larger than any of the other kittens, but not yet as large as the adults. Instantly, Harry knew that this cat was the source of the pull he'd felt. With hesitant hands, the boy reached into the cage to lift the black cat to him. Upon closer inspection, the cat was not truly black at all—dark brown rosettes—so brown that they were almost black dotted its hide from neck to haunch.

Harry smiled gently as he brought the beast to eye level. "Hello," he whispered, his own green eyes locking with the cat's. "You are beautiful." The cat seemed to appreciate his statement, and immediately began purring. Harry knew what he had to do.

"Hagrid," the boy said from behind the half-giant, nearly scaring the man out of his boots.

"Oy, Harry, don' do tha'. Ye'll be the death of meh yet." Harry only smiled and lifted the purring cat up to Hagrid's hand for inspection. Surprisingly, Hagrid looked slightly crestfallen. "Er, actually Harry... I thought yeh weren't gettin' anythin'. So I ah, already bought yeh a beastie. Happy Birthday!" He pulled a cage from behind his back. Inside it, a raven fluttered at the sudden movement, cawing its surprise. Harry's face fell at the sight of the raven.

"So I can't have the cat?" His green eyes took on a slight watery sheen. Now that he had found the cat, he couldn't think of what he'd do without it. Hagrid, in one of his more astute moments, noticed and made a quick decision.

"Tell yeh wha'. When I talk teh Dumbledore, I'll ask 'im. If yeh can't keep the raven then I'll use 'im as me own personal owl. Er, so to speak, o'course." He scratched his head and gave the raven an apologetic glance as it squawked at being called an owl.

Harry grinned like a madman and rushed up to the counter to pay for the cat. She (for the cat was a female) disdained the use of a cat carrier, choosing instead to ride on Harry's shoulders. Not that Harry had any problem with her being there. His eyes were a sparkling indigo blue as the pair and the new pets made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron for something to eat.

Wow. This is going in a completely different direction than my original notes and plotlines ever said it would. Chalk it up to the stupid were-muses that live in my head, I guess. I never meant for the cat to pop up, she just did, I swear! And she'll probably bring in her own adventures I'm sure. Yay. 'Scuse me while I smack my muses around. Anyway, again, pardon the lateness. I should technically be working on my NYU and Drexel personal statements at the moment, but the muse attacked me. (and after two months of lying dormant, who can blame him?) So yeah, take heart in the fact that you don't have to throw the rotten vegetables. The colleges are torturing me enough as it is. Ta for now!

gryph

Post Script: Geh. fanfiction's preview thingy is messing with my chapter. So if things are bold italisized that aren't supposed to be or whole chapters are repeated, I had nothing to do with it. Sorry it happened, but I will try to fix it as soon as eff eff dot net gets their collective act together.