"Stay here and don't leave his sight."

Harry bent his head, drawing his black cloak closer as Fenrir disappeared into the dingy storefront with Lestrange and Fletcher. He flicked a quick glance at Wormtail, who was about an arm's length away and Remus, who was across the street and half-hidden under a moldy old awning.

Harry crossed his arms and muttered under his breath, cursing Snape and the elder Malfoy, who had both insisted they were too busy to carry out this small errand. Lestrange and Fletcher, though, weren't trustworthy enough – oh, they were loyal to Voldemort, but Lestrange was half-mad on a good day and Fletcher could be distracted by anything shiny and pinchable. So Fenrir had to watch them; and it had been weeks since Harry saw sunlight off the castle grounds, so he came, too. Which meant Remus and Wormtail had to come – Remus to watch over Harry on Fenrir's orders, Wormtail to watch over both of the younger werewolves on Voldemort's orders.

Knockturn Alley was seeing the best business it had in decades. As Voldemort had predicted, with Dumbledore gone and the rest of the light side reeling while they tried to find someone to lead them, the Ministry was nearly paralyzed. Loyal light-sided wizards tried to keep order while spies and those loyal to Voldemort crippled the Aurors from the inside. No Dark wizard – or anyone seeking a restricted or dangerous item – feared to walk Knockturn Alley. It was Diagon Alley that was nearly deserted except during certain hours when people moved in groups, quickly and with their wands ready.

That was the main reason Remus had been brought along to watch Harry. The young man was hardly recognizable any longer as the Boy-Who-Lived; he had grown several inches in barely more than a month, he had filled out a bit, his glasses were gone, his hair was longer and tied back, and his famous scar was so faded it was almost invisible. Besides, who would expect famous Harry Potter, Gryffindor and hero, to be wearing a cloak emblazoned with the feared Dark Mark?

Wormtail shifted impatiently and after looking around, leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. Harry rolled his. Some watchdog – well, watchrat, anyway. The Animagus' cloak was similarly marked on the right breast with the Dark Mark in bright, acid green – the same green as the Basilisk, as Harry recalled – but his was surrounded by a ring of gold thread to signify he was high-ranking in Voldemort's circle. Harry, and Remus, and Greyback (when he bothered) wore a different Mark … theirs was cradled in a silver crescent moon, marking them as werewolves loyal to the Dark. Harry detested the cloak and what it represented, but as he had been reminded earlier, it was either the cloak or he would go along in just his trousers.

A short wizard who looked a few years older than Harry paused on his way past, eyeing the new werewolf up and down before winking saucily. Harry bared his teeth, showing off the sharp, elongated canines and making the man jerk back a step. He was soon lost in the crowds.

Harry practically felt Remus shifting, moving closer in case something of that sort happened again. Harry was as anonymous as any other wizard here, and he wasn't dressed like a respectable young man out to buy a new book. He was only wearing a pair of black trousers and the cloak, which didn't quite close over his chest. It exposed his lean musculature and the faint scars near his navel. Remus had been set as Harry's guard ever after his first trip off the castle's grounds since being turned, when an ambitious young woman had assumed Harry was available. She'd flirted outrageously, mistaking Harry's silent boredom with shyness, until he told her to shove off. Alas, she was a witch, and hexed him. A moment later she was a bloody smear on the street and Fenrir was snarling possessively over Harry.

Harry hated to think it, but he had become a bit used to such violence, and very quickly. His first complete full moon had been a nightmare to the boy he was raised as – ten hapless Muggles had been let loose in the forest while Fenrir's pack enjoyed a hunt. Harry tried not to think about what he had done to the young boy whose legs hadn't had a chance to outrun him; he'd had no control over it and at least he hadn't enjoyed it as the other werewolves had.

Two witches a few years younger than Harry strolled past, chatting excitedly while their mother walked a few paces behind checking a list. Their bags, stamped with marks from the Apothecary, the tailor's and the bookstore reminded Harry that term at Hogwarts would be starting soon. Since the girls were obviously getting ready for another year, Harry knew they must be purebloods. After all, he had been dragged into the decision on how and when to reopen the venerable school.

/Flashback\\

Henry Saffric seemed unbothered by the pacing presence of the Dark Lord at his back as he poured over a very thick, very old book, tapping the pages with his wand and muttering unintelligibly. Voldemort was dividing his attention between Saffric the Scribe, Severus Snape, and Fenrir Greyback.

"I have no doubt most of the children who were sent to Durmstrang to get a proper education will be recalled to Hogwarts, but securing knowledgeable teachers will take more time." Said Snape, reading a letter as he spoke. "We can only fill about half of the positions as matters stand … and the most important – Charms, Transfiguration and Potions – are the ones we are having the most trouble with."

Voldemort glared at Snape, "What about Syrand?"

"She has been dithering," Snape frowned at the letter and tossed it onto the desk he was working at. "She needs an incentive to come – she hardly needs more freedom in the subject matter, as Waters has always been more liberal than Hogwarts in its curriculum."

"Offer her Deputy Headmistress," ordered Voldemort, and Snape bowed before striding out of the room. The Dark Lord spun on Saffric, "Are you done yet?"

"The layering spell is complete, my lord," the scribe said in a distracted voice. "Just two more and the identification charms will be available on command."

Harry was sitting on the couch next to Fenrir. He had been allowed to accompany his mate to this meeting solely for the demoralizing opportunity Voldemort saw in it. He wanted Harry to witness the destruction of a thousand years' worth of Muggle-born education in one easy step.

"What do you think, Potter?" he hissed, watching the boy closely for a reaction. "How does it make you feel to know no Mudblood shall ever step foot in Hogwarts again?"

Harry controlled the urge to retort sharply. While objectively, he hated the man and all he stood for, he had been well trained not to let his tongue or temper override his better survival instincts. After all, he was the Boy-Who-Lived. If there was anyone who knew about surviving a situation with his life and sanity intact, it was him.

"I think you're making a mistake," he said eventually, when he could manage to say it without spitting it. He even thought he managed to make it sound halfway respectful.

Voldemort laughed at him, "Of course you do. You see no problem in educating those who are unworthy of magic, in diluting our gift with those who cannot appreciate a fraction of its value."

Harry gritted his teeth for a moment and kept his eyes down. He knew if he looked up into Voldemort's taunting serpent face he would do something regrettable. He considered several different answers to that before settling on, "I don't necessarily think every Muggle-born wizard should be educated in magic … but those with enough power? Isn't it a waste to kill them?"

Voldemort stopped his pacing, perhaps surprised at getting an intelligent response. "There is no way to measure a child's power, Potter, and allowing them to live and get to Hogwarts only makes disposing of the weakest more messy in the end."

Harry bit his lip, glancing up at Fenrir. The older werewolf raised an eyebrow, then nodded, silently giving Harry permission to say what he wanted. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice would hold out; his voicebox had been permanently damaged when he was turned and he rarely spoke now. Harry glanced quickly up at Voldemort before continuing. "But killing them as children prevents any chance of finding a Muggle-born who would be powerful enough to match most purebloods. I doubt I would have turned out half as able if my mother was an in-bred pureblood like my father."

Voldemort hissed, making Harry's scar flare in pain. "Stand up, Potter, you look pathetic cowering there." He waited until Harry had come to his feet, then circled the boy. "And what then, Potter? What compromise would there be?"

Harry looked from the scribe, to Voldemort, then back at his feet. He was frantically thinking, considering anything that wouldn't bring the wrath of Hermione and his mother on his head if they were to hear of it.

"A separate school would be the best solution," he said at last, biting his lip. "Muggle-born students could be educated to a lesser degree there, but those who showed exceptional ability and determination should be allowed to go to Hogwarts for a full education."

"Ones like your little Mudblood friend, Granger?" Voldemort hissed, beginning his pacing again. "And what of the others? Those too weak or disinclined to seek betterment?"

This was the sticking point in his idea. If he couldn't think of a better purpose for lower-level wizards the entire lot would be exterminated…. "They could be educated, but perhaps not to the same level? They would only need to learn the basics, charms and spells through the fifth year. Wouldn't they be useful for the lower-level duties? Nannies, clerks, that sort of thing?" Harry didn't notice Voldemort's eyes narrowing at him, as he was getting another idea.

"They could be put under a restriction – say they were only allowed to continue practicing magic if they produced a magical child with another wizard. The child wouldn't be pureblood and couldn't attend Hogwarts but after say, two generations it would be allowed, so long as they continued producing magical children. If the theories on magical descendence are right, requiring Muggle-born witches and wizards to only have children with other witches and wizards would concentrate their ability and produce more powerful offspring."

Harry stopped after a moment, glancing up to see how his idea was being taken. Fenrir didn't seem affected, but Voldemort was glaring, and Harry's scar began to throb.

"Get him out of my sight." He nearly shouted; Fenrir obeyed, tossing Harry over his shoulder and taking him back to bed.

/End Flashback\\

Harry had thought his idea had at least some merit, despite Voldemort's initial reaction. And, a few weeks later, he learned he wasn't the only one. Plans had been made to begin the school, starting with all the Muggle-born students currently attending Hogwarts. Voldemort set Harry the task of suggesting the headmaster of the school, which might have seemed easy enough, but was not. A school of Muggle-born students was ripe for some sadistic Death Eater to take control of and make into a twisted mockery of the original idea. But Harry only had a limited selection of people to choose from – the headmaster had to be a Death Eater, and had to be a male – Voldemort's rules.

After a while considering it, and being able to watch and learn about the Death Eaters who frequented the castle, Harry suggested Forscythe Avery he met Voldemort's requirements, and Harry's. He was not a typical Death Eater – one of the men and women who followed the Slytherin Heir in search of Dark Arts, power and control. Avery was a family man who had been a Ravenclaw and had a fascination with ancient Dark Arts; he was considered something of a walking dictionary on the subject and much like Snape, was used for his knowledge. He had three daughters ranging in age from thirteen to five, and they adored their father. His wife was expecting a fourth; Harry didn't know for sure that he would treat Muggle-borns equally, but at least he knew how to deal with children and would be more interested in their education than keeping them down because they were less pure.

Voldemort approved the choice, and Harry's suggestion that Remus teach as well. After all, Remus was a good teacher, he was qualified, and since Harry had been turned he had surrendered to Moony and stopped fighting the Dark nature of his lycanthropy, so the Dark Lord trusted him. The school would not begin its first session until after New Year's, but first priority had to go towards getting teachers and students arranged for Hogwarts.

Harry walked closer to Remus when the older man came across the street and motioned him over. Traffic was constant on Knockturn and he had to be careful not to knock into anyone. Not only was it a bad idea to offend any of the wand-wielding wizards around him, but also Fenrir absolutely hated anyone getting too close to Harry. Generally, Voldemort and Remus were the only ones who would get within arm's length of him.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked softly, not worried about Remus having trouble hearing him.

"Rest your voice," the older man said, pushing Harry's shoulder until the dark-haired werewolf was further in the shadows. "Alastor Moody and Shaklebolt have been seen on the Alley today and I don't want them recognizing you."

Harry nodded and slid behind Remus. He knew better than to try and find either of the Order members, knowing it would only cause a lot of trouble and possibly a very unpleasant punishment for him. After Voldemort had explained his situation in exact language, he'd been forced to make a hard decision about his imprisonment.

/Flashback\\

"Aww, is Potter hiding?" Peter Pettigrew peered around the door to one of the smaller libraries and smirked at finding the younger male there. "What's the matter? Muggle upsetting your stomach?"

Harry closed his eyes to block out the hated face, but that only made him nauseous. When his eyes were closed he couldn't help but remember the scent of fear and desperation on that boy, the hot burst of blood in his mouth, choking cries that quickly died out – he swallowed and nearly threw up. Wormtail stared at him with his hateful, beady little eyes and Harry glared.

"What do you want, traitor?" he felt a small victory in the shiver this produced in Wormtail. His throat was rough from vomiting that morning and the transformation last night, and he sounded terrible.

Pettigrew regained himself and sneered at Harry, "Not the only one who's a traitor now, am I, little werewolf? You should see what they're saying in the papers about dear Remus."

Harry glared at Wormtail, not daring to look away and give the rat the pleasure of knowing he had scored a painful blow. For nearly forty years Remus had suppressed his werewolf side, Moony, but when Harry was turned and taken as Greyback's mate, he'd let the lycan overtake him. For a while, he'd gone a bit mad. Against orders, he'd snuck off to Grimmauld Place to find Tonks; he was hoping to convince her away from the Order or at least talking her into keeping his presence a secret so they could continue seeing each other.

The visit had gone badly. Tonks was at first happy to see Remus, if worried, but the more he talked to her the more she became aware he was not the same gentle, almost timid person she had known. Upon hearing Harry's situation and their lack of attempts to escape – indeed, Remus' plans to return of his own free will – she'd tried to curse and capture him for the Order. Remus was unsurprisingly not pleased. He broke her wand, then both her legs and raped her before leaving Grimmauld in flames.

Harry was still uneasy around Remus because of it and did not appreciate Pettigrew's reminder. The Daily Prophet had gotten hold of the story and ran with it, which coincided nicely with the new laws on werewolves and other Dark Creatures. It was the combination of this and the long stay in Voldemort's castle that had triggered Harry's first attempt to take his own life.

Fenrir had outright laughed at him, after he put the bloody boy in a bath and ran the cold water. Werewolves, he was reminded, healed fast and it was difficult to kill them in the first place. Second, their inner beast did not like the idea of being killed and never let their human commit suicide. They could and did damage themselves, but never fatally. Harry had gotten close the second time when he broke into the potions lab and stole a large vial of amalgamated silver – it had put him in bed again for another week because silver could do terrible things to a werewolf and it resisted healing, plus the mercury hadn't helped – but that had been his last attempt.

Now he eyed Pettigrew, who continued to taunt him, over Remus' status on the most-wanted list along with the Azkaban escapees and Voldemort, and the boy Harry had killed last night. Quicker than the Animagus could react, Harry was off the couch and attacking him. Wormtail flung out his silver hand in defense; exactly what Harry wanted him to do. He grabbed the hand, gritting his teeth against the shriek of pain this caused, and wrenched downward and out. Pettigrew screamed as the hand tore free, staggering backward before he fell to the floor. Harry dropped the silver hand and cradled his own burnt palm with a sadistic grin as Pettigrew tried to reattach the shapeless lump of metal.

Harry's head jerked up as he become aware of the scent of his alpha over the stench of blood and pain, catching sight of a furious Fenrir. The older werewolf swung his arm, hitting Harry across the chest and flinging him across the room. He managed to roll before he slammed into the table in the center of the room and came to a halt.

"Which one of you wants to explain what is going on here?" Voldemort hissed as he strolled in behind Fenrir. Harry looked up, ready to snap that the rat had only gotten what was coming to him. Greyback snarled at him warningly and Harry stayed silent, lowering his eyes quickly. "Well?" Voldemort demanded, kicking Wormtail. "Answer me!"

"H-he attacked me M-Master," he sobbed, showing them his stub of an arm, still bleeding freely on his robes. "Please, Master…."

Voldemort did not look pleased, "He is an unarmed boy, Wormtail! Are you not capable of using that wand at your side?" when the pathetic man just continued to sob he hissed, "Allow me to demonstrate. Crucio!"

Harry screamed in pain, his body contorting at inhuman angles as the curse moved over him. Voldemort only lifted the spell when Fenrir shifted beside him, apparently satisfied the boy had been punished sufficiently.

"Wormtail. I gave you that hand as a reward – it is no concern of mine if you cannot keep hold of it. Take yourself down to see Severus, now!"

Pettigrew slowly gathered up his bloody robes, the lump of silver, and shuffled off, still weeping. Voldemort had already turned to Harry again, flicking his wand and levitating the young werewolf back to his feet.

"You are not adjusting very well, Potter … I suppose it would be too much to expect Dumbledore's pet Golden Boy to resign himself to fate too quickly." He came to a stop in front of Harry, serpentine features tightened in cruel amusement. "Are you awaiting rescue, perhaps…? No, I suppose not, you're more intelligent than that. Escape, then? You are the sort to depend on yourself above all others…"

Voldemort laughed as he saw the confirmation of his guess in Harry's eyes. "You stupid little boy. What are you thinking? That you will wandlessly be able to break your pretty collar?" he flicked a finger against the dragonhide ring that still rested around Harry's neck. "Do you think you can get past all of the guards, past the Death Eaters and creatures who live here, past the spells guarding the entire castle and grounds?" he chuckled, a disgusting, hissing sound. "Let us pretend for a moment, Mr. Potter, that you managed the impossible and escaped …. What then?

"Are you going to flee back to your dear Muggle relatives? …Oh, I had forgotten to tell you, Lucius did you a favor and killed the woman, so I suppose that option is out. Well, I'm certain the infamous Order of the Phoenix would be happy to lend you their protection … but without Dumbledore, they're helpless. Who could protect you now, Harry? McGonagall? The Weasleys? Perhaps Moody, he is rather handy with a wand … but he has no liking for werewolves, you know. Rather like Severus, actually, too many close calls …. Had you forgotten, Harry, that you are now controlled by the were inside you and the moon. Your little friends will have no time to care for you while they are trying to save themselves.

"But you could have your own little pack … imagine it, you could return to your precious Weasleys and live on the run, begging for food and shelter like your pathetic godfather…." Voldemort merely smirked at the low growl this got from Harry. "But I had forgotten, you would be just as wanted by the Ministry now … a dangerous Dark beast …. Aurors have been given authorization to use the Killing Curse against werewolves now, of course you knew that. I suppose, you are the Boy-Who-Lived …. It's what you do best, isn't it, Harry? You survive. You might even manage to carve out a place for yourself, if not for one problem … you are a mated werewolf. And your alpha," he glanced at Fenrir, "is loyal to me. You might have one, even two months outside the castle free before your lycanthropy turns completely against you … then you would come back here willing or not – or you would die without your mate."

/End Flashback\\

Tom Riddle hadn't been the most successful student at Hogwarts since Dumbledore without a reason. He was right about everything he told Harry, and they all knew it. So Harry had settled. It wasn't that he had resigned himself, he was still ready for any opportunity that presented a better option, but he was realistic. As Fenrir had told him, the way things stood he was fed, sheltered, taken care of, and he was with Remus. He wasn't going to upset that unless there was a good reason.

There was a minor explosion in the building behind them. In the Muggle world it might have been cause for anything from concern to outright panic but on Knockturn it barely cause a rippled in the passers-by. Harry and Remus watched as Lestrange, Fenrir, then Fletcher walked out the front door without a scratch on them, Rodolfus carrying a large sack and looking pleased with himself.

Greyback immediately looked for Harry, finding him half-hidden in shadow behind Remus. He frowned before recognizing the warning glance Remus gave to the street around them.

It was enough forewarning to save the older werewolf. He leapt back into the storefront as spells exploded across the alley, most of them deadly green. Lestrange Apparated away with the parcel after sending back a few Unforgiveables and Fletcher was only a few seconds behind him. Harry watched as Moody and Shacklebolt spotted Wormtail against the wall, barely woken from the nap he had been taking. The rat Animagus cursed them a few times, then, instead of Apparating as he should have, ran off. The two Aurors were chasing after him in an instant, shoving people aside as they went.

"Stay in sight," Greyback snapped, as he appeared and followed after the fleeing Death Eater. "Idiot rat," he growled, pulling his wand from his sleeve and sending a cutting hex at Moody's back.

Shoppers were now reacting, not wanting to get in the crossfire of dangerous hexes. Harry latched onto Remus' arm and ran with him after Fenrir, watching for any sign of Wormtail or Shacklebolt. For some reason Voldemort did value Pettigrew and they knew they couldn't return to the castle without him.

Remus paused next to a store and shoved Harry inside as he drew his wand. "Harry, stay down, stay here, we'll come back for you in a second. Understood?"

Harry looked him right in the eye and nodded, "I will."

The sandy-haired man squeezed his shoulder and ran outside, chasing after the others. Harry leaned his forehead against the glass for a moment, feeling bereft and hating it. Since being captured he was almost never left alone and he felt uneasy without anyone around him, especially since he had no wand and no way to escape if something should go wrong.

He glanced around the shop he was in when a minute or two had passed and no one he knew went by the window. It took him only a second to recognize the place Borgin and Burke's. Coming to this place had never been good news for him and it immediately set his teeth on edge. His entrance did not seem to have alerted the proprietor so he was safe for now … after a moment, he reassessed that thought. If Aurors or other trouble showed up, Borgin might be his best option to make it back to the castle, safely and quickly. Surely the man would help him, even if it was only in interest of receiving a reward from the Death Eaters for capturing 'the Boy-Who-Lived.'

Once he had settled down enough Harry suddenly realized he wasn't alone in the shop. He could hear someone breathing in the far corner, out of sight of the windows, hidden behind the vanishing cabinet and a few other large artifacts. He stilled his own breathing and strained to listen, discerning that there were three, maybe four others hiding back there.

Harry immediately weighed his options. He would be in trouble if he went after Remus and Fenrir, and there was no telling who he might run into outside. Still, he had no idea who else might have chosen to hide in the dark artifact shop and there was no way he could defend against three wizards if they were hostile. The curtain that covered the back door to the shop was just out of sight of the vanishing cabinet, so he might be able to get back there and reach a fire and some Floo power if he was lucky.

Harry decided on waiting for the moment, moving away from the window and sinking down into a crouch, hidden behind a large Chinoise vase that looked far too expensive for Burke's.

The wait was interminable. Harry was thankful for perhaps the first time for his strength as a werewolf, able to remain in the same position without a single twinge in his back or legs. He rested the tips of his fingers on the ground and closed his eyes for a while, knowing any movement or arrival would alert his ears first anyway.

A very soft slithering sound brought him back to attention a few minutes later and he looked up, searching for the disturbance. He was shocked to see a small ear wiggling toward him, a long flesh-colored worm sticking out the back and winding through the shop. Someone had been visiting Weasley's Wizard Wheezes lately.

He reached down carefully and pinched the ear shut. Someone cried out in surprise and a second later a Stunning hex was shooting straight toward Harry. He ducked, covering his head as the Chinoise vase exploded, sending dark green powder and pieces of china in all directions. Harry sneezed and grabbed a sharp piece of pottery, getting halfway to his feet and waiting for the attack.

"Harry?"

He blinked, shocked, as a trio of redheads and one brunette stepped out from behind the cabinet, staring at him in shock. All four of them glanced at his forehead for confirmation when he just stared, speechless. His hair had grown out, long enough to tuck the front behind his ears, leaving the center of his face visible and with it, the faded lightning bolt.

"Harry!"

A redhead burst forward, hugging him hard as the twins came forward and began shooting questions at him and the brunette – Hermione – stood there with tears in her eyes, staring at his scarred neck and the Dark Mark on his cloak. Harry jerked into motion at the physical contact, shoving the girl away from him hurriedly.

"Ginny?"