CHAPTER ELEVEN
A/N: 100 favorites and 200 follows... You guys rock my world. Onwards!...
Special Shout-Out: Go read BLACK by I am the Color of Boom if you like some darker, realism artistic stuff. And if you love Sirius Black. Or if you just appreciate good writing. It is a brilliant, artistic, inspiring story.
"Hermione, when's the next blue moon?" Harry asked suddenly, setting the book he was reading down on his lap. The warm library was quickly becoming his favorite place, due to the quiet nature and lack of crowds. On top of that, he had found that books actually had a wonderful smell.
"I don't know, Harry. But you really ought to get your glasses back," she replied in a tired voice, and repressed a yawn.
"But I got my vision magically enhanced," Harry argued in a loud voice, drawing odd looks from the surrounding company. He didn't have many options to spread that rumor, and he had noticed that people seemed to scatter from the room when he raised his voice, so doing that served two purposes.
"And it appears your hearing got worse. Be quiet, or leave," Madam Pince snapped irritably from a short distance away, poking her head up from behind a bookshelf.
Harry mumbled a half-hearted apology before pulling his book up in front of his face again, pretending to read until the librarian ambled off in the other direction. Hermione cast a quick muffling charm around them once she was out of earshot, and Harry smiled slightly as he noticed a few people who had been sitting nearby picking up their things and wandering off toward a different corner of the library.
"Why is it we're looking into this again, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly as she thumbed through the pages of the werewolf book in front of her.
Harry shrugged. "Just curious, I suppose," he lied. "Remus had been telling me about how Sirius was able to help him and it just got me thinking." He didn't know how to explain his feelings toward Malfoy. He was positive it had to do with his transformation, that his werewolf was somehow influencing him, but he wanted to be sure. Maybe then he could find some way of reversing it.
Because he didn't like Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake.
"You're taking the Wolfsbane, right Harry?" she asked very quietly, looking up to him in a very serious way. "You aren't planning on trying something else somehow involving animagi? I know it tastes awful, but it really is the most reliable method."
"I'm taking my potion," Harry said quickly. "I'm just curious, is all. Honest," he said sincerely, popping an Oreo truffle into his mouth and flipping another page.
A werewolf thrives in a pack environment. In lieu of a pack of werewolves, a werewolf may develop deep attachments to animagi. This is not seen to happen with non-magical creatures such as wolves or dogs. The reason for this attachment is unclear, however it is noted that a werewolf can be influenced behaviorally by the pack. This has, in the past, been used to control unwanted aggressive and neurotic behaviors during transformations in which the werewolf is kept from human prey.
It has not been shown that werewolves have any strong preference for one kind of animagi over another after bonding, however a werewolf does seem to instinctively bond to a canine animagi first if given the option.
In a werewolf pack...
Harry sighed, flipping the page again. They didn't seem to mention an untransformed werewolf's response to their animagi 'pack' anywhere. It all had to do with transformed interactions.
"So, Harry," Hermione started casually, startling the werewolf into looking up, "there have been, rumors," she said casually, humming as she flipped a page again.
"When aren't there?" Harry muttered darkly as he ate another one of his truffles. He smiled at his candies proudly - he'd had Dobby teach him how to make them in the kitchens the other night.
If he couldn't have dreamless sleep potion, then he didn't really need sleep, he figured. And strangely enough, he wasn't feeling any ill effects, despite it being just three days from the full moon. Every time exhaustion hit him heavily enough, his magic sort of rose to the surface the way it had when he'd done accidental magic, and he felt okay again.
He looked pretty terrible, but then, that wasn't so bad. He could always use glamours. And his scar had gone oddly quiet once he had stopped sleeping and having the nightmares.
Yes, the solution was just not to sleep.
"Malfoy's been... Nicer, recently, wouldn't you say?" she murmured, jostling him from his thoughts once again.
He narrowed his eyes as her words sank in.
"No," he spat.
He had noticed the Slytherin had been oddly less hostile, but he was sure he was plotting something. Slimy ferret git was always plotting, no matter what his wolf said. Or thought. Yes, no matter what his wolf thought.
"Oh," Hermione said, pressing her lips together. "You know Harry, it's okay. And Ron would get over it," she said very quickly after a beat of silence, cheeks pink as she finished her sentence.
"What?" the werewolf asked, lifting his green eyes from his book and narrowing them at the girl in bemusement. Hermione had been very odd lately, and she didn't seem to appreciate Harry waking her up to read over particularly confusing bits of werewolf text and make chocolate deserts in the night.
Ron wasn't speaking to Harry for whatever reason though. Maybe it was because he'd finally admitted that Ginny smelled worse than a wet dog. So, Hermione ended up being his only choice.
"I just mean, if you and... Malfoy, were, I mean it would make sense," Hermione mumbled as she flicked another page in her book.
"If we were," Harry replied numbly, his inner-ramblings screeching to a halt as he finally focused on what she was saying.
The witch nodded.
"If we were what?"
"A couple, Harry," Hermione said in an exasperated tone. "I'm just saying, it's fine. It's all fine."
"We are not. And it is not okay," Harry protested less sharply than anticipated, drawing a look of surprise from the witch. He gave her a look of distress and glanced back down to his book, tired eyes unmoving as he stared down at the page.
"You could tell me, if you were," Hermione said hesitantly, having expected an explosive rejection of the idea. She watched the werewolf tensely as he sat there in disturbing silence, knuckles white from where he gripped his book.
It's okay? Hermione thinks it's okay? Ron wouldn't think it was okay. Hermione shouldn't think it's okay. He's a git to her. He's a git to me, he's a git to everyone. He's the son of a Death Eater. It's not okay.
Harry looked up and gave the witch a slow look of concern.
She was clearly out of her mind.
"Hermione, I think you need some sleep," he suggested gently.
The Gryffindor witch blinked at him once, slowly setting down her book. "Harry, you haven't slept in two days," she said very gently. "I think you need sleep more than I do."
Harry glared at her. He wasn't the one losing his mind, saying things like it was okay. He didn't need sleep. "I can't sleep," he said brusquely. He then frowned - that wasn't what he had exactly been planning to say.
"What's keeping you up?" Hermione inquired, head tilting slightly to the side as she leaned back in her seat, expression contemplative.
Harry opened then closed his mouth, licking his dry lips. He watched the dust play in the light beside her head. She coughed slightly and he jumped, focusing once more. "Keeping me up? Dreams," he explained, waving one hand before crossing both arms across his chest, feeling a stab of defensiveness.
"Nightmares?" she asked.
"Sometimes, sometimes not," Harry murmured in response, both of his eyes drifting closed.
"So it is the nightmares, or the dreams, that are keeping you up?"
"Dreams," Harry blurted without thinking, eyes reluctantly popping back open. He watched the expression of the girl nervously. Her face was painted with confusion as she watched him. "I think the wolf is affecting them. Changing them. He likes people that I don't," Harry explained slowly.
Hermione frowned slightly at this and pressed both of her lips into a contemplative line. "Harry, lycanthropy is a warped extension of your own magical energy and soul. It's not a thing, living within you. It can bring things about yourself to the light, but unless you're transformed, it can't control how you think."
Harry shook his head. "You're wrong. You don't understand," he said impatiently. He shut the book before him and pushed out of his seat, swaying in place.
He was suddenly exhausted.
"You should go to bed Harry," she suggested gently, getting to her own feet and casting him a look of concern. He shot her a half-hearted glare in return.
"I know," he muttered, turning around sharply enough to make the room spin around him. "Thanks, Hermione," he added reluctantly, turning to face the witch slightly with a forced smile. "I'll stop keeping you up."
"Harry," Hermione started. The wizard took off, not wanting to snap at the witch for no reason whatsoever as unreasonable anger bubbled to the surface. I need to sleep, he thought miserably, exhaustion making itself known. His whole body ached, his head throbbed, his eyes stung.
No, I'll go for a fly.
He turned himself suddenly in the direction of the Quidditch field, struggling not to stumble over his own feet. He felt his glamour dissipate as his magic rose to the surface, awakening him like a splash of cold water to the face. He picked up the pace, quickening to a light jog as he tore into the Quidditch room, gathering up his broom and heading out on to the pitch, a spare snitch in hand.
The cold night air whisked around him, flicking up his black hair in every direction and whistling in his ears. He smiled, lifting his head up toward the sky and looking up at the nearly full moon. He laughed slightly, and gave a hard swallow.
He raised his hand, covering the moon with his palm.
It might as well of not existed, his hand covered it so entirely. He could have covered up ten full moons with just one hand.
He switched to using just the tip of his index finger to blot it out of mental existence.
It was so small, in the sky. So far away. Yet somehow, despite all the distance, it managed to successfully ruin his entire life. As if he hadn't already had it hard enough.
"What'd I do wrong?" he asked no one in particular. He dropped his hand blocking the moon, slowly tracing the edge of the scar on his shoulder through the material of his shirt. Rage curled up inside him, alive like a flickering flame.
It wasn't fair.
He held out his hand still holding the snitch and let it extend its silver wings. Its shiny exterior reflected the bright rays of the moon and he smiled at it as it slowly lifted into the sky, seemingly confused by its dark surroundings.
Harry reached for his discarded broom and the snitch bolted. The wizard felt a wolfish grin curl up the corners of his lips and he laughed slightly, hopping on to his broom and pushing off the ground effortlessly.
The snitch took off into the distance, clearly sensing the intensity of the Seeker as it took off into the cloud layer, almost immediately disappearing from view.
Harry beamed, lying flat to his broom and taking off after it, tearing through the icy cloud layer. Bits of frost clung to the tips of his hair as he made it through to the top. He looked around, ignoring the glaring light of the moon and focusing intently on the hiding snitch.
He closed his eyes, straining his hearing to its limits.
Nothing. Its wings were silent.
He took in a slow breath and pinpointed the metallic swirl of scent that he had begun to identify as the snitch.
His wolf was alive, and excited. It had been so quiet the past four days, the wizard had nearly forgotten his presence. He liked chasing the snitch almost as much as Harry did.
It was maddening. Two adrenaline rushes at once. He spiraled toward the scent, heart beating rapidly as he spiraled through the clouds again, ignoring the numbing cold.
He smiled, letting a hand stray from his broom handle and extending it through the air, feeling the wind tear through the space between his fingers as he touched the clouds. He let out a laugh that was torn away by the wind and focused his gaze sharply on a distant glint of gold.
His night vision was not so much improved with the transformation, which for once made the chase challenging again.
The snitch darted for the shadows, seeming to realize how it had given itself away, and Harry dropped into a steep dive, the wind battering against his freezing skin painfully. He pinched his eyes closed, wishing he had brought his goggles, and sank into the dive, dropping into a playful spiral as he neared the earth.
Its damp, muddy scent forced his eyes opened as he neared a crash. He yanked out of the dive just in time, pulse pounding noisily in his ears as he drew in desperate, rapid breaths, still not forgetting his hunt for the seemingly petrified snitch.
He dragged his broom left, vision finally pinpointing the frantically fluttering golden snitch. It took off in the other direction, toward the end of the pitch. Harry laid flat to his broom, wasting no time in his pursuit. His fingers were numb against his broom handle as he forced one hand to lift, extending it through the air just ten inches from the desperately racing snitch.
Now seven inches, he pressed forward, stretching his arm as far as he could without shoving it out of its socket. The snitch was forced to turn as it reached the end of the pitch, and turned around the bottom of the metal hoops.
Harry looped around the hoops after it, growling angrily under his breath as the snitch used its superior turning ability to put distance between them. He gripped his broom with both hands, scrambling to his feet on the racing broom and balancing hesitantly as it pushed over ninety miles per hour, clearly having reached its maximum speed.
The snitch made to go up, obviously having grown tired from the chase only a foot from the ground, and Harry leaped off his broom. He tackled the snitch to the ground with him and rolled forward several feet, tearing up the soft grass beneath him and coating himself in mud.
He was breathing heavily as he retrieved the snitch with both hands from under his ribcage. He smiled, dry lips cracking as he did so, and sat up. His ribs and arms protested angrily, but he ignored them, and watched the snitch's wings slow reluctantly.
"Gotcha," Harry muttered breathlessly, his red, swollen fingers closed around the metal snitch as he staggered uncertainly to his feet. His entire body shot with protesting pain.
He winced, extending a hand slowly to his stinging ribcage. He'd landed sort of awkwardly on top of the snitch. It hadn't been a high fall to the ground, but he could distinctly feel some deep scrapes along his knees, and there was definitely going to be some bruising on his ribs in the morning.
Mud dripped off of his eyebrow, and he used one hand to brush the gunk off of his eyes. He limped across the pitch to his broom, which had come to a stop after losing its rider quite a distance away. He pulled it from the air, smiling at it thankfully as he started back toward the castle.
"How you do this is beyond me," Madam Pompfrey muttered angrily. "A broken rib, Harry? You know what tomorrow is. This is not going to make it any easier for you," the mediwitch lectured as she waved a wand over the exhausted-looking wizard.
"I know, I'm sorry," Harry murmured, eyes drifting closed as he laid down in the soft hospital bed.
"This is clearly at least a day old. You should have come to me at once."
"It didn't hurt this much at first," Harry protested, repressing a yawn to avoid the lecture about how he should be sleeping.
"When exactly did you do this?" she asked sharply.
"Um, tripping, down the switching staircases, yesterday," Harry said slowly, opening his green eyes and giving the most innocent look he could manage.
She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly disbelieving, but simply huffed, shaking her head and turning away. "You know, your father used to do the same thing, all the time," she said in what Harry would have called a playful tone if he hadn't known better.
"Really?" he asked curiously, head tilting slightly to the side.
She smiled slightly, before quickly schooling the expression and nodding severely. "Oh yes. Clumsiness must run in the family," she said as a way of explanation.
Harry smiled, glancing down to his lap as the potions began to take effect. He nodded in agreement, no longer bothering to repress a yawn.
"It must be those snitches that you keep in your pockets each time you trip, too," she said wisely. "Bad luck charms, most definitely."
"Oh, probably," Harry agreed vehemently. "I'll be certain not to carry them around anymore. Thanks for the tip, Madam Pompfrey."
Guys, it's a full moon tonight. And Friday the 13th. It's spooky! Oh, and reviews make me feel fuzzy.
