CHAPTER EIGHT
A/N: Onwards...
"How are you feeling, Harry?"
Harry lifted his head from his arms very slowly, eyes narrowed as a growl built in his chest.
Ginny held up both hands defensively, eyebrows raising as she looked back down to her plate.
"Oy, she just asked how you were feeling," Ron snapped.
Harry turned the glare to him.
"I think he wants some quiet," Hermione suggested, huffing.
Harry buried his head back into his arms with a sigh, squeezing his elbows around his ears to help block the sound.
"You know he can't help it," Hermione whispered sharply to Ron. "It's really insensitive of you to-"
"-He growled-"
Hermione scowled heavily at the word usage, despite its truth. She had been very careful about avoiding anything that even in some distant way suggested that Harry might be a werewolf.
"-I mean glared," Ron amended, huffing impatiently, "at Ginny!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ginny, are you hurt?" she asked mockingly.
Ginny sighed dramatically, clutching a hand to her chest. "Horribly wounded. And you know what would make me feel better?" she asked very seriously. "My older brother coming to my rescue."
Harry resisted the urge to smack his forehead into the table.
Honestly, they never shut up, did they? His head throbbed with every grumbling complaint, squeak and greeting. The screech of shoes against the floor, the sniffling sobs of a Hufflepuff from a table over about how her boyfriend had dumped her.
And Ginny was wearing a new perfume, and it made everything even worse. She kept trying to lean past Harry too, as if she was hoping he'd notice.
Maybe he should tell her it gave her the lovely aroma of pumpkin-spiced puke.
He smiled at the thought of Ron's expression.
"Maybe you should go lay down Harry," Hermione suggested.
Harry sat upright, bloodshot eyes flashing as he gave her the meanest look he could manage. "If I could sleep, do you think I'd be down here?" he asked slowly, gritting his teeth.
She sighed, frowning and look at her plate. "Maybe you should tell Professor Dumbledore-"
"-It's fine," Harry spat.
She wouldn't give up the idea that Harry should go and tell Dumbledore that his scar was hurting.
Who even cared? Dumbledore was busy. And as if that was on the top list of Harry's concern.
The full moon was in three days, and he felt positively dreadful. He'd considered asking to return to Grimmauld Place for the transformation, but he didn't figure there'd be much luck.
Harry shivered, shaking his head rapidly and running a hand through his messy black locks. "It's cold in here," he muttered.
"It's seventy degrees," Hermione said worriedly.
Harry shrugged. "Right. Whatever," he mumbled, sighing again and sinking his head back into the nest he'd made with his arms.
He'd been doing some reading on werewolves and animagi. Apparently, a werewolf could form pack-like bonds to an animagus and other werewolves. The pack provides a sense of stability and home. This creates deep feelings of trust and happiness when around pack members; which would explain Harry's instinctual response to the wolf animagus.
Who wasn't Draco. Pompous, stupid git. Harry didn't know who it was, but it wasn't him, and that's all that mattered.
"Who's a stupid git?" Ron asked angrily.
Harry looked up slowly, lip curling in anger.
"Language, Weasel. Five points," Draco drawled cheerfully from Harry's left.
Harry jerked upright, green eyes widening as the scent assaulted him once more. He filtered through his mind, looking for the grumpiness he'd been channeling at his friends and hoping to vent it on to the blond.
But the anger was gone, as well as a great deal of tension in his core that he hadn't realized he'd been harboring.
"You can't take points from other prefects," Ron snapped, scowling.
Draco laughed. "I just did. Isn't that sad." His grey gaze focused steadily on Harry, eyes narrowed. "Something wrong, Potter?"
Harry sneered at him. "Go away," he snapped, tired gaze unsteady.
Draco's head tilted slowly. "Your Aunt's sick, isn't that right?" he asked slowly.
Harry flinched at his tone, shoulders pulling back and head lifting in a defiant gesture. "Yeah, she is, now sod off, Malfoy."
"Looks like she might have given you whatever it is she had," Draco said, tone dangerous. "You don't look so well."
Harry didn't have the mental energy to banter. He pulled himself to his feet, reaching for his wand angrily, eyes flashing.
Draco looked slowly down at his wand, then arched both pale eyebrows as he seemed to run his eyes along the thin scar marking its side.
Harry felt his stomach clench.
There was no way he knew.
Harry resisted the urge to snarl as he drew in breath after breath, trying to imagine Draco with Ginny's stench as the scent tugged at memories in his mind, his werewolf pacing cheerfully.
Not the animagus. There's no way. There has to be a subtle difference, he reminded himself, a dawning expression flitting over his face. He unintentionally leaned closer to the Slytherin, drawing in a slow, deep breath through his nose.
Draco's face curled in a mixture of anger and confusion.
Winter mint, snow falling softly, a fresh morning breeze after rain, the Quidditch pitch, a hint of fresh metal, magic-
"Get away from me," Draco snarled. Harry jumped, startled when he realized the other's wand was now pointed to his chest, his grey gaze threatening. He'd gotten lost in the sensation and depth of the signature, it was like a thousand images playing in his head, and so much more unique than he'd realized upon first glance.
Harry leaned back, fighting the flush creeping up his neck and swallowing thickly. "Yeah, well, you get away from me," he sniped, hands curling into fists as he glared, green eyes still wide with disbelief, which somewhat ruined the effect.
Draco snorted, rolling his eyes and stuffing his wand away. "Feel better, Potter, the fever looks like it's gone to your head," he said sarcastically, turning away and heading toward the Slytherin table.
Harry stayed standing, watching him go, his hands still clenched into fists and his cheeks burning.
It was him.
"Shit," he mumbled, sinking slowly back into his seat.
"Potter looked like he might snog you for a moment there," Blaise said with an amused expression, sinking into his seat next to Draco with a bored yawn. "That, or hex you. Couldn't quite pick one."
Draco snorted and Pansy looked affronted. "What? What happened?"
Blaise sighed, shrugging. "It's called a joke, Parkinson," he said dryly.
She turned her gaze to Crabbe, delicate features set in a firm scowl. "Crabbe, what happened?"
Crabbe shrugged one shoulder, and Blaise laughed. "Feeling threatened by Potter, Pansy? You should go give him a piece of your mind," he said very seriously, dark eyes bright with amusement. "Let him know to keep his grubby hands off, and all that."
"I heard his aunt is sick," Daphne chirped up. "Seems awfully torn up about it."
No, he didn't, Draco mused internally, taking a thoughtful bite of a garlic knot. "Definitely. Sometimes I forget he has a pathetic little muggle family."
"Never talks about them much," Abigail Pugh, a girl a year below Draco, mused.
"Maybe they didn't worship him enough for his tastes," Flint said mildly from a little ways down the table.
Draco felt a twinge of curiosity, and lifted his gaze, peering across the Hall to Potter.
He found piercing green eyes staring right back at him, and flinched, startled by the intensity. He forced his expression into a glare and squared his shoulders.
Potter didn't seem bothered. If anything, his expression hardened.
Draco tried not to blink.
His eyes started to water.
"Draco?"
He jumped, startled and blinked on accident. Cursing Pansy internally, he turned to her.
"You zoned out," Pansy said. "Do you not like your pasta?"
Draco hummed, pulling his bag over one shoulder. "No, the spices are all wrong," he said finally. "Blaise?" he said as he got to his feet, shooting Crabbe and Goyle a glare as they started to get up too.
They sat back down.
"In a minute."
"Ancient runes is-"
"-I'm taking divination," Blaise said. "Remember?"
Draco huffed. "Why, again?"
Blaise smirked. "Easy grade. We all know I'm living off of inheritance. Good grades are all Mum asks. Doesn't matter what subject."
Draco blew out a deep breath and looked over to the half-asleep ancient runes professor.
Potter takes divination, he realized, eyes flitting over to the exhausted-looking, black-haired wizard. He looked decidedly sick. And the fact that Weasel and Granger hadn't sent him to the Hospital Wing yet was odd in itself.
"You know, I'll skip. Think the old bat will notice if I join in on your class today, Blaise?"
"What'd you write in your dream diary this time?" Ron asked curiously as he strode next to the sluggish werewolf, up toward the stuffy divination room.
"What? Oh. I forgot. I don't know. I'll tell her I want to do an oral report," Harry mumbled. My real dreams lately would probably satisfy her morbid need to hear about horrible things happening to me, he thought darkly.
"Do you think mine are any good?"
"What are they again?"
"Getting eaten by a giant goldfish, and then becoming a ghost, and I'm stuck in the fishbowl and can't get out. Also, you were the goldfish, and you died," Ron said.
"Say that the water in the goldfish bowl turned to blood or something. Make it grosser," Harry suggested.
"Oh that's good. And my other one is I'm drowning-"
"-Oh, this is good. This may very well shape up to be my favorite class. All we do is talk about your deaths?"
Harry stopped sharply, eyes wide with shock as he forced himself to turn around, jaw dropping at the sight of the smirking blond Slytherin.
"Don't you have ancient runes, Malfoy?" Ron snapped, turning to face him with a scowl.
Draco shrugged. "Top of the class, I can afford to take a vacation. Besides, when Blaise told me how much Trelawney loves to predict Potter's elaborate, artistic death, I just couldn't say no."
Blaise offered a crooked smile.
"You're a right foul git you know that?" Harry spat.
"I thought Hermione was top of every class?" Ron protested sadly.
"Not Potions, Runes, Transfiguration or anything that requires a shred of talent rather than, oh, what do they tell her she has – ambition. Shame your precious little mudblood can't be as innately talented as you'd like-"
He cut off sharply as Ron stepped forward, wand out.
"Careful Weasel," Draco said tauntingly, raising his hands in mock-defense. "I'm sure that vomiting slugs for a week like you did last time, isn't something we want to relive."
"Let it go, Ron," Harry said tiredly from where he stood.
"Let it go?" Ron snarled, pressing his wand into Draco's throat.
Draco seemed unabashed, but Blaise discreetly pulled out his wand, eyes narrowed.
"Detention!"
The Gryffindors jumped at the sound of Umbridge's cloying, sharp voice. Blaise tucked his wand away, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips. Draco repressed a burst of laughter at the Weasel's shocked expression.
"And, ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. Why, attacking another student," she hissed.
Ron's wand-arm fell slack, falling away from the other boy's throat and to his side as he gaped on in shock.
"But he called-!"
"No buts," she said in a severe tone, her voice high and soft. "I am appalled, Mr. Weasley. And I will not stand for this sort of behavior."
Ron stared at her, jaw slack in shock.
"My office, this evening. I'll see you there," she said sharply.
Harry gave Ron a sympathetic look as Umbridge walked off, scribbling something sharply on her clipboard.
"Detention?" Ron asked Harry slowly, eyebrows knitted together in sadness.
Harry lifted his head, shooting Malfoy a dark look. "Come on," he barked to Ron, stomping around the Slytherins and heading up the steps. "Let's get this stupid class over with," he muttered.
"You think what?" Hermione asked loudly, her eyes widening.
Harry shot a quick glance around the library, eyes wide in alarm as he moved his hands in a gesture that told her to quiet down.
"What makes you think that, Harry?" she whispered now, eyes round in surprise. "How could Malfoy… know?"
Harry opened, then closed his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek contemplatively as he curled his hands into fists on the table, sighing.
"I don't know," he said finally, voice low. "But I just... I just get this feeling."
"You should tell Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said anxiously, lips quirking into a frown.
"Tell him what? I think that Malfoy maybe sort of knows that Aunt Petunia isn't actually sick?"
Hermione frowned. "Do you always call her that?"
Harry frowned back at her. "Yeah, why is that even important?"
Hermione shrugged slightly. "It isn't," she said lightly. "I still think you should tell Dumbledore if it's worrying you, Harry. He'd want to know."
Harry sighed impatiently, running both hands through his hair and looking over both shoulders, shaking himself.
"I guess so. I'll tell him if I find out for sure that he knows something. There's no point until then."
Hermione nodded in resignation, and peered curiously at the book he was reading.
A Werewolf's Pack
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, frowning curiously. She leaned forward over the aged table in the darkened area of the library, in between two sweeping shelves. "What's that about?" she asked quietly.
Chapter Seven: Animagi
"Ducks," Harry said stiffly, closing it and tucking it into his bag.
She glared at him, before sighing, throwing her hands up in a dismissive gesture. "Well, I think it's good that you're looking into it and trying to learn what you can," she said in a forceful, yet encouraging tone.
Harry nodded stiffly, yawning and stretching his aching back muscles.
"It's tonight," he mumbled, crossing his arms on to the table and setting his chin down on top, sighing and blowing some dust into the air.
"I know," she said gently. "I wish there was something we could do. Oh! I got you this," she said suddenly, reaching into her bag. She pushed over a chocolate frog, smiling.
He smiled at it and the peered up at her, green eyes bright with warmth. "Thanks, Hermione," he said cheerfully, noticing for the first time how hungry he was.
"Is it dinner time yet?" he asked.
She pulled out her wand, casting a Tempus charm, he watched the golden numbers light up in the air, the dust around them sparkling.
"Would you like to head down? It technically starts in a few minutes, but I don't think most of the students will be there for another twenty minutes or so," she answered.
He nodded, getting to his feet. "Yeah."
"That class was torture," Draco snapped, striding toward the Great Hall.
"Mm," Blaise mused in response, suppressing a yawn. "I didn't say it would be fun."
"The stench was horrid. Do you think Potter actually vomited when he went to the bathroom?"
Blaise shrugged both shoulders, expression impassive. "Not sure. Maybe he's sick," he suggested as he pushed open the door to the Hall.
"He does look unwell, doesn't he?" Draco mused, gaze flicking over to said-Gryffindor as he entered after his friend.
"Or maybe he's just really worried about his aunt. I heard she's seriously ill. He's leaving tomorrow morning to see her."
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Tomorrow?" he asked sharply.
Blaise nodded.
Full moon tonight, Draco mused silently. Astronomy class wasn't so useless, after all.
He watched the Gryffindor as he walked past the table, taking in his expression.
Bloodshot eyes, purple bags under his eyes, sluggish movements, pale coloration. His appetite seemed gone as he poked at his food, his shoulders hunched. He would occasionally move, stretching as if he were sore.
And his eyes, and now that Draco really looked his damn hair. Those startling shades of green and black.
"Hell," he mumbled, eyebrows raising slightly as his mind flitted to the playful werewolf.
How long? Draco wondered silently as he sank into his seat. Potter had taken Astronomy last year, he'd seen him on the full moon classes, so it had to have been-
Fenrir.
Draco's eyes widened, his mind flicking back to that night at the manor.
He had to know - for certain - that it wasn't a coincidence.
"Something's on your mind," Blaise said in a casual tone as he started his dinner, scooping up some beef stew.
"Mm," Draco murmured, eyes narrowed at the black-haired wizard across the Hall. "Yeah," he said finally, and began making his own plate.
Blaise didn't push it.
"I'm so sorry to hear about your aunt," one of the Parvarti twins chirped, pecking Harry lightly on the cheek to his shock. He'd thought she hated him after that incident at the Yule Ball.
"Yes, it's really horrible," the other one said softly, brown eyes round in genuine horror as she sank into the seat next to him. She reached up a hand, patting his shoulder consolingly.
He lurched forward, a snarl ripping from his lips. He shoved himself upright, eyes wide with panic as he moved away from her, mind spinning uncontrollably as the wolf frothed in rage.
The scar marring his shoulder stung, memories flashing through his mind.
The twins stared up at him in unified shock, and Hermione got to her feet hesitantly. "Harry? I'm sorry, he's just – he was very close to his aunt, you know," she whispered to the twins.
They blinked slowly as Harry's posture slowly relaxed, and he gave his head a small shake.
"Of course, I'm really close to my aunt too Harry. I'm sorry, we shouldn't have brought it up," the one who had touched his shoulder said quickly, biting her lip.
He shook his head, holding up a hand. "No – I – it's okay," he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. "It's just – uh, difficult, and I'm tired," he said.
He forced a smile at the worried occupants of the table, and began to walk away stiffly, leaving his plate untouched. "Good night, Hermione," he said, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.
She got to her feet, then looked between the table and him anxiously, seeming unsure of what to do.
He waved his hand dismissively, heading out of the Great Hall, his entire body shaking. The door slammed behind him, forcing a ringing into his ears.
It wasn't supposed to happen this early. The sun hadn't even set. He gasped as a sudden pain shot through his scar and reached up, freezing in his walk, clutching his forehead as it seared angrily.
Full moon tonight, angry, connection-
His vision swam before him.
Standing in a large, grand dining room.
Nagini was circling around his feet, climbing up his leg. He was angry, so angry. Corpses laid around the room, his wand was clutched in his hands-
"-Potter?"
Draco's voice rang in his ears and as he took a breath in, the sweet scent of mints assaulted him. He cracked open his eyes, his posture relaxing and his jaw dropping slightly.
"Hello," he said without thinking.
Draco blinked in rapid succession, stopping as he had been about to walk past the other.
"You're alone?" Harry blurted, looking around him curiously as if expecting to find Crabbe or Goyle hiding under a rock.
"Does it matter to you?" Draco quipped, frowning. Harry dropped his hand from his scar when he realized it was still stuck there, and offered a sheepish smile. He then seemed to remember who he was talking to, and the smile turned to a frown.
"What did you want?" he asked suspiciously, leaning back against the wall for support.
"You looked like you were going to pass out, I asked if you wanted to see Madam Pompfrey," he said slowly. Then he rolled his eyes, hitching his bag over his shoulder.
"Why are you being nice to me?" Harry snapped, scowling.
Draco fixed him with a blank, condescending look. Harry's cheeks flushed but he continued to glare defiantly.
Draco started to walk off.
"Wait!" Harry cried as the soothing effect of his presence began to fade, the wolf panicking slightly.
The Slytherin stopped, turning to face him in a slow, impatient manner.
"You – uh – I hate you," Harry said helpfully, glaring.
The blond rolled his grey eyes and continued on down the corridor without another word.
Harry sagged into the wall heavily, groaning and massaging his temples.
I hate him, he reminded himself, struggling to put his weight back on his feet as he stumbled toward the Hospital Wing.
Harry rubbed unthinkingly at his scar, heaving a sigh as he looked around the Newly Refurbished Shrieking Shack.
It really did deserve the name. It was pretty on the inside now, decorated in bright Gryffindor colors with a roaring fireplace.
"I'll be back for you in the morning, then," Madam Pompfrey said. "Just try to sleep through it all," she advised.
Harry nodded. "I wish Sirius could visit," he said, glancing around. The walls were a deep, striking burgundy. There was a venting system letting fresh air filter into the room near the top of a one-way-window. A large leather couch sat by a large, brick fireplace, and in the upstairs there was a simple bedroom that he could use if he wanted.
"I know dear," she said gently. She reached into her pocket, and tucked a chocolate bar into his hand. He smiled to express his gratitude.
"See you in the morning," he said, flopping down on to his leather couch in exhaustion, slowly unwrapping the chocolate.
Poppy waved as she walked out the door, shutting it behind her and beginning to cast protective spells on her way out.
Harry popped a piece of the chocolate into his mouth, and peered out the window to where it overlooked Hogsmeade.
He swallowed harshly, willing the anxiety away. Fireflies began to light up the outside, and a soft smile warmed his insides as he watched them.
The moon lifted slowly, staring down at him.
I'm dead, Harry thought miserably.
Every bone in his body had shattered. Forget cracking, they broke into a million fragments and rebuilt. His muscles tore themselves apart, his organs twisted into knots and remade themselves.
He'd tried to stay quiet for as long as he could but eventually, when the memories of the attack reform and the burning in his veins twisted his mind, he'd given in and screamed, the screams slowly morphing to howls when the transformation reached his vocal chords.
It was a thousand times worse than the first transformation, and for several moments, he couldn't find it in himself to move.
He heaved several whimpers, green eyes pinched closed as he tremored.
His wolf snarled in his mind angrily, this time pushing for control. Harry made a conscious effort to push it back, and struggled to his paws.
Harry turned his nose to the air, and looked around the dark room. He gave a whine as he yawned, stretching his front legs forward and stretching out his tense muscles.
He tossed his head, his black fur shaking as he did.
His wolf immediately began to search for its pack members, and he walked woodenly toward the steps, forcing himself up each one in large, bounding strides.
He saw a mirror at the far edge of his bedroom, and his eyes widened minutely.
That's... me?
He bounded toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and tilted his head slowly, watching the giant black wolf in the reflection do so as well.
He was huge. He wasn't quite as tall as himself in human form, but undoubtedly more muscular. He made a snarling face at the mirror, and watched his lips curl back to reveal pointed, knife-like teeth.
He scrambled back, startled by his own appearance, pinning his ears flat to his skull.
His tail tucked in and his fur bristled, making him appear even larger.
He forced himself to relax, and watched his puffed up fur fall again.
He sat back on his haunches, wondering idly if the mirror had been put there specifically for entertainment purposes. Musing over this, he slowly tilted his head back and let out a low, melodic howl.
Watching a wolf howl – even if you were said-wolf – was undoubtedly magical. In a muggle sense of the word. He gave himself a wolfish grin in the mirror and felt his inner-wolf stir curiously at the reflection.
He instinctively lowered the front half of his body, wagging his tail playfully at his own reflection.
He barked threateningly, pinning his ears.
The reflection pinned its ears back.
He growled.
It growled back.
He pulled himself upright, shaking his body and pushing the wolf's impulses aside despite its internal whimperings.
He hopped up on to the large bed that dominated the room, and peered out of the one-way-mirror.
This one showed the grounds of Hogwarts, and he felt a pang of loneliness as he looked at the glowing castle in the distance.
He let his head fall back, and let out a slow, building howl.
