CHAPTER SEVEN
A/N: Onwards...
"Harry are you ready to go?" Hermione called up the steps.
Harry threw his final things into his trunk, batting away the twinge of irritation at her shout. She didn't know he could hear her if she had whispered it, and it wasn't her fault that his muscles were still aching.
"Yeah!" he called down as he heard her step toward the staircase and prepare to shout again. He shoved his glasses on his face, trying to ignore the irritation the wall of glass between him and the world caused.
It was for keeping up appearances.
He hummed to himself, replaying his conversation with Dumbledore and Remus.
To avoid suspicion, Ron had offered to take Polyjuice one or two times so it would look as if he were disappearing for the day, for whatever reason. That way it wouldn't look like Harry was leaving every month consistently.
Harry would leave the first time to "see his muggle family". Aunt Petunia was "very ill". As far as everyone knew, she had been his loving motherly figure.
According to Dumbledore, the entire staff was not aware of his condition. It was limited to himself, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid and Snape. Harry hadn't gotten around to asking why.
He would transform in the Shrieking Shack - or, the "Newly Refurbished Shrieking Shack" as Dumbledore had dubbed it - and in general he'd do his best to avoid suspicion. Sirius wouldn't be able to visit - apparently it was too risky.
So, he'd be transforming alone.
In the most haunted house in the wizarding world.
No big deal.
Remus assured him it was not that bad. Nor was it haunted.
Overall, life would go on. Wolfsbane every month, he'd probably sleep through the transformations, and hopefully no one would find out. The concern was back on the war.
From what Harry had successfully managed to eavesdrop, the attack hadn't been planned by Voldemort. That was what the Order's source said at least.
It had been suggested that Fenrir had planned it himself, for whatever reason. It had then been suggested that Remus go back undercover to find out.
Sirius had been enraged.
Harry scowled at the memory, fury curling up inside of him. They had never faced Fenrir, they had no idea what they were suggesting. Forget the fact that he was the one who had turned Remus in the first place. That wasn't something you just forgot for the sake of the Order. It was torture.
It'd taken all of his willpower not to go downstairs and hex Snape to hell and back for even daring to suggest it. Sirius, from the sounds of it, had tried.
He got the vague feeling that Remus had heard him snarling curses from upstairs, because after that, the meetings had been silent. No matter how hard he strained his ears, he heard an unnatural level of silence.
Huffing grumpily, Harry waved his wand, the trunk shooting into the air and narrowly avoiding the high ceiling. He lowered his wand slightly, willing the trunk to hover at a more appropriate height.
On the upside, since the transformation, he felt almost like he and his wand had a deeper bond. It had also gained a long, thin scar on the left side. Dumbledore had said that some wands were more closely attached to their owners than others, and that was normal.
He placed it carefully in his robe pockets and started down the steps.
Hermione beamed at him. Ron offered him a quick grin from where he stood by the fireplace, floo powder in hand.
Harry smiled back. "Congratulations, by the way," he said suddenly, his gaze flicking to both of their badges. "I entirely forgot."
"Oh, thanks!" Ron said, puffing out his chest proudly. "I mean, I didn't expect it, you know. I kind of thought that, well, you-" he cut off suddenly, the tips of his ears turning pink.
"Guess I'm a little too busy," Harry said hesitantly, forcing a grim smile. "Sick aunt, and all that."
Ron flinched, nodding. "I'm kidding Ron. You deserve it," Harry said, stepping around him and reaching for the powder, tossing it into the fireplace as he stepped inside.
"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."
Owls hooting, heels clicking, kids promising to be in whatever House. A baby crying, a cane tapping, an owl got loose, now someone had lost their cat.
My god, does everyone have to talk louder in places like this? Maybe if they all whispered they wouldn't feel the need to screech over each other.
And the scents were nauseating. It seemed that every witch there was wearing some obnoxious brand of perfume.
And felt the need to put the entire bottle on.
Harry closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, steadying breath. Hermione stepped out behind him and he immediately spun to face her, green eyes wide with stress.
Her brows furrowed in worry as he stepped closer to her and drew her into a warm hug, exhaling sharply and fighting the ringing in his ears.
Ron stepped out a few seconds after to her to see them hugging and scowled as Harry took a deep breath in, nose pressed to her curly brown locks. He sighed, leaning away from the embrace.
"Harry?" she asked in surprise, her cheeks looking somewhat pinker than before.
"You changed shampoo," he said. He offered her a terse smile, then turned, looking around hesitantly and trying to lock Hermione's scent in mind as he had done with Shacklebolt.
Books and peaches; and of course, an undefinable singular scent that followed each person around. Harry got the feeling it was some sort of magical signature.
"Books and peaches," he mumbled out loud, eyes drifting closed.
Hermione shot him a look of concern and Ron huffed. "We need to go, Hermione, to the prefect's compartment. There's a meeting," he said stiffly, arms crossed.
Harry's eyes flew wide and he frowned. "A meeting?"
Hermione frowned apologetically as the three strode toward the train, Harry doing his best to block out the noisy chatter surrounding. "Yes, I'm sorry Harry. We don't really want to go, but we don't have a choice."
Harry's shoulders slumped forward. "Right, sure," he muttered. He coughed as a woman strode past, the stench of her perfume seeming almost painful.
The trio stepped on to the train and Hermione said more quick apologies as she made toward the back of the train. He shrugged, avoiding eye contact and ignoring Ron's grumpy glare as the two strode off.
Winter mint and Quidditch.
His head shot up as the scent drifted past and his green eyes shot from corner to corner, desperately trying to locate it.
Malfoy sneered at him angrily from where he stood outside of his compartment and Harry returned the glare, still searching for the location of the scent.
It was fading though - quickly. Malfoy shut the compartment door behind him and Harry grumbled to himself, blaming Malfoy for his bad luck. He ruined everything.
The white wolf is someone at Hogwarts, Harry realized as he pushed open a compartment door, waving absentmindedly to Luna and shutting the door behind himself. He sank into his seat, frowning in thought.
"Hello Harry," Luna said in a tinkling voice.
"Hey Luna," he greeted, looking up and smiling.
"You have more wrackspurts than usual," she said from behind her large, wrackspurts-sensing glasses. She wore a flattering, black-blue dress that seemed to be made of feathers, and an enchanted origami bird was playing around in her hair, which was twirled up to look like a bird's nest. "I hear that's a side-affect of lycanthropy, though."
Harry's blood ran cold.
"Oh don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone," she said in a lofty voice as she pulled off her glasses, tucking them away in her bag with a distant smile. "Your secret's safe with me."
"How did you know?" Harry asked quietly, green eyes still round with horror as he shot a quick glance to the compartment door, to make sure no one was listening in. He briefly glanced to his shoulder, just to make sure the scar was still covered.
"It's obvious isn't it?" she asked with a soft frown. "Your hair has clearly been attacked by whimsylicks, and everyone knows they have a vendetta against werewolves."
Harry blinked, before sitting back slowly. "Right. Well, uh, yes, please don't tell anyone," he said slowly, frowning.
Luna beamed, nodding cheerfully. "How was your summer, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. "Had better, actually," he said finally. He let out a loud laugh, smiling. "Excited to be going back to school."
Luna smiled. "I like school too. This summer me and my dad went Crumple-Headed Snorkak searching."
The werewolf nodded. "Any luck?" he asked curiously, stretching back into his seat, finding himself strangely pleased at the ease of the conversation with the blonde Ravenclaw.
She shook her head. "None yet, but I suspect we might have more luck over the holidays. They like Christmas, you know."
The green-eyed wizard nodded knowingly.
"It looks like we're here." Luna's voice startled him from his half-sleep and he sat upright. "Thank you for the Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, Harry," she said cheerfully as she popped one into her mouth.
He blinked the sleep from his eyes, nodding slowly as his brain recalled the purchase of the candies from the trolley earlier.
He'd offered her chocolate, but she'd insisted on the jellybeans.
"No problem. I'm... glad you like them, Luna," he said. "What flavor is that?" he asked as she popped a grey, dark-speckled one into her mouth.
"Black pepper," she said cheerfully.
He nodded, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling of the compartment with a yawn. "Well, I'll see you around," he said, pulling himself to his feet.
"See you, Harry."
"How'd the meeting go?" Harry asked as the three of them met up outside the train.
"Awful, you'd never believe," Hermione snapped to his surprise, stomping toward the castle. "Honestly, I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking-"
"-What are you talking about?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed.
Ron sighed. "Malfoy's a prefect, too," he explained, looking grumpy.
Harry blinked, trying to shake off the hurt that prodded his insides at this revelation.
Dumbledore had picked Malfoy, but Harry apparently hadn't been good enough?
He shook it off. Dumbledore just didn't think you'd want the responsibility on top of everything. You know that. And you know it's true, he lectured himself internally, shoulders tense as he stalked toward the castle.
"-And frankly I think it makes some sort of sense if you think about it. Besides, she is just so rude," Hermione finished whatever she had been on about. Harry looked up and nodded agreeably, and she nodded in return.
"I mean, remember last year, with Rita Skeeter? That was just ridiculous."
Here we go, Harry braced himself as he pushed open the door to the castle. Warmth bubbled up inside him despite his trepidation, and a small smile lit his features.
It was good to be home.
"Bet you the gamekeeper's the first to go," Pansy drawled. "She hates half-breeds."
Draco rolled his eyes, stabbing his carrot angrily. "She's nauseating, and she's going nowhere. Her blood status is questionable, anyway. Just because you cover something up doesn't mean it isn't there."
Pansy looked startled, and tapped her red nails against the dark, wooden table in thought. "So you aren't pleased she's here?"
Draco shrugged both shoulders. "She'll kiss up to me. She wants on my Dad's good side. And she'll get rid of Dumbledore. I'm just saying she's not someone to look up to."
"You seem off, Draco," Blaise Zabini cut in, arching both eyebrows. "Normally you'd be rejoicing over anything that'd put Potter in a bad mood."
Draco looked up sharply, as if just now remembering that.
"You're a prefect?" Daphne Greengrass asked suddenly, eyes wide as she noted the badge for the first time.
The blond Slytherin shrugged. "Yeah," he said dismissively. He narrowed his eyes across the hall, looking at Potter for the first time.
He looked stressed, eyes wide and posture tense as he glanced about. He jumped when Weaslette flung into a seat next to him, but didn't say anything.
"I think I'm going to do my first duty as a Prefect," Draco said distantly, getting to his feet with a wide smirk. "Crabbe, Goyle. Walk quietly," he snapped to his shadows as he righted his robes, fixing his collar as he strode toward the Gryffindor table.
"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of a vital importance. Although each headmaster has brought something new to this... historic school, progress - for the sake of progress - must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected and prune practices that ought to be... prohibited!" Umbridge stood up at the staff table, puffed up like a giant, inflated pink toad, her cheeks nauseatingly bright.
"I hate her," Harry snarled, eyes narrowed up at her from where he sat at his table, prodding his steak angrily.
Hermione looked to him in surprise. "You... understood that, Harry?" she asked slowly.
"Understood what?" Ron asked as he swallowed a bite of bread.
"She stinks," Harry grumbled, pinching his eyes closed. "Horribly."
"But don't you see what she's saying?" Hermione whispered angrily as Dumbledore took over the speech once more.
"She's prohibiting things," Ron said slowly. "So, she's going to ban stuff."
"I could smell the sugar from her tea from over here," Harry snarled, then jumped, surprised at his own tone.
Hermione shot him a serious look and Ron stopped eating for a second. "Hey Gin," Ron said.
"It means," Hermione said finally, setting her jaw in anger, "that the Ministry has decided to interfere at Hogwarts."
"Wotcher, Harry," Ginny said. Harry nearly jumped out of his seat, drawing in a sharp breath.
"Oh, hi, Ginny," he mumbled, sinking back into his seat and shooting Ron and her a discreet glare as he remembered his disagreement with the redhead a couple weeks ago.
His eyes flew wide suddenly as Ginny's distinct scent hit him. He resisted the urge to cover his nose.
It was like inhaling cinnamon. Not that there was anything wrong with cinnamon, but it was borderline painful. Drying, and spicy with cloying sweetness. Maybe it wasn't a magical signature he was sensing, after all. Maybe it was...a person's signature?
He had no idea why Ginny's was so bad, but he knew he couldn't eat if she was going to be around.
He coughed weakly, turning his head away, discreetly covering his nose.
"Jumpy, Potter?"
Malfoy's voice sounded from just a few inches from behind Harry. He leapt to his feet, green eyes wide as he sucked in a shocked breath, spinning to face the Slytherin. He quickly pulled out his wand, green eyes flashing as anger bubbled up inside him.
"Tut-tut," Draco drawled, grinning and pointing slowly to the shining prefect badge on his chest. Harry's chest rose and fall rapidly with sharp breaths of anger as he balled his hands into fists. "Going to have to take points from Gryffindor already. Negatives is an impressive feat, Potter. Even for Gryffindor. Let's see, hmm... Ten points for attempted assault on a superior."
"You aren't a bloody superior," Harry snarled lowly, keeping his wand out, holding his breath without thinking.
"Sure I am. Looks like Dumbledore didn't love his golden boy enough to give him a badge, did he?" Draco drawled slowly, eyebrows arched.
Harry shook with rage. Trust Malfoy to know just why this would get to him. Not that it does get to me. That bloody ferret has no idea what he's talking about-
Harry opened his mouth to retort before suddenly, the familiar scent of the white wolf twined through the air. Harry's wolf stirred in his mind, seeming to lift its head and wag its tail. Unbidden warmth flooded from his core, a sense of familiarity like coming home to Hogwarts.
No.
Slowly, his green eyes widened as he stared into the eerily familiar grey ones. "You-" he stared without thinking before snapping his mouth closed, his wand arm having fallen slack.
Draco slowly arched one eyebrow. "Five points for being absolutely mad," he added casually, walking off with a playful wiggle of his fingers. "See you, Potty - Weasel," he called. Crabbe and Goyle followed after him, wands out, looking even more brutish than the year before.
Goyle looked to be attempting to tip-toe.
"It's him?" Harry whispered slowly.
"Yeah, that's Malfoy, mate," Ron said.
"He can't actually take points already," Hermione snapped, poking her green beans with her fork with a frown. "Negative points don't exist, do they?"
Ron shrugged.
Harry fell back into his seat with a frown.
"Is everything all right Harry?" Ginny leaned in closer, her long red hair carrying her stomach-churning scent. He scooted away unconsciously, teeth gritting.
He forced a shrug, closing his eyes and scowling. He put his elbows on the table and planted his face in his palms, eyes pinched closed.
How could it be him? What was he doing so far away from Malfoy Manor? How was he not afraid of me? Why do I even care? It's not like I knew the wolf that well. I guess I liked him. But this is stupid. I shouldn't be this disappointed. It's all my - the wolf's fault. Of course he'd like Malfoy. They both love to ruin my life. When did Malfoy become an animagus, anyway?
"Harry, dinner's over," Hermione said in a tone that suggested she was repeating herself. Harry pulled his head up, mouth dropping agape in surprise. "Oh, right," he said, nodding. "Thanks Hermione. I'm - I'm tired. Night," he said shortly, gathering up his bag and letting out a deep exhale, shaking himself.
"Potter seems awfully upset, what'd you do to him?" Pansy purred as Draco sank back into his seat.
Draco scowled, shrugging. "Just said hello," he murmured, eyes narrowed.
His green eyes had been disturbingly familiar. And the way he'd reacted...
But, it was impossible. If Potter was a werewolf, Draco would have realized it by now.
"You said hello?" Pansy asked incredulously, arching one well-groomed eyebrow.
Draco blew out a breath, nodding and leaning back from the table. "Took points, or tried. Don't think I actually can."
"Oh," Pansy said slowly, eyebrows furrowing.
Draco pushed his piece of sushi around on his plate, sucking on his teeth thoughtfully. "I think I'm done with dinner," he said finally, getting to his feet.
"Is everything okay Draco?" Pansy asked gently, hand reaching out and grabbing his bicep.
He pulled out of her grip, nodding. "Just tired," he said dismissively, clearing his mind like he'd practiced more the last few weeks.
Living with Snape taught you to keep your mind and emotions clear as often as possible. He'd grown increasingly suspicious when Draco went looking for the werewolf in his animagus form a few other nights in a row.
For some reason, it felt private. And he got the feeling it fell under 'not keeping him safe' if he was allowed to befriend werewolves, so he doubted Severus would have let it go on if just out of respect for his mother's wishes.
Blaise frowned at him from where he sat and Draco shook his head, walking off alone. Blaise was a good friend, but he wasn't in the mood to talk.
I need to go for a walk, Draco thought suddenly, loosening his tie as he headed for the doors of the Great Hall. He smiled, thinking about how his mother would react to that. He made a mental note to get rid of the habit before he went back home for the holidays.
Harry took a deep breath of the fresh air, pulling away from the open window with a deep sigh as he drank in the scents of his common room that he'd been oddly blind to all these years.
Smelled a bit like firewood in winter. And feathers.
Heaving a sigh, he threw himself down on to his bed, drawing in the scents slowly and calculatingly. He rolled over, ignoring the blankets and staring blankly up at the ceiling.
There was no way Malfoy was the white wolf. That much was certain.
He scoffed at even believing the thought for a second. "Idiot," he mumbled, blaming the wolf in his head.
Maybe some people have the same smell?
He had a hard time believing that, with how acute his sense of smell was. Besides, it was quite obviously a signature. Those had to be like fingerprints. They're always unique. Maybe he hadn't looked at Malfoy's closely enough?
He'd get a better sense of it when he got the chance. There were surely small differences he'd just missed.
He smiled, pressing a hand slowly to his forehead. He let his eyes drift closed, licking his dry lips and coughing. He hated this. Feeling sick.
The full moon came too frequently. He was never free of it. There was the week of it, where the wolf awoke and the irritability began, the week after it where your muscles all ache, the week before it where you feel ill in every way and can barely eat, and then then those precious few days in between where you can try as hard as you like to forget.
Harry smiled dryly to himself. He reached up a hand, touching the scar on his forehead gently. "It's nice of you to cause me problems as if I'm not busy enough already," he informed it as it twinged, stinging angrily.
"Hmp, talking to yourself. Good for battle strategy," a knight painting on the wall informed him warmly, nodding.
Harry laughed into the empty room.
