CHAPTER TWELVE
A/N: Onwards...
Harry slowly started his way down the familiar dark path out the side of the castle, painful exhaustion and stress tugging at his limbs. He curled his hands into fists from underneath his invisibility cloak as the cold stung his knuckles.
The sun was just beginning to set over the castle, sinking into the orange, pink, and red sky. The moon was already up, staring teasingly down at the werewolf only to be brushed behind clouds every few moments.
He stumbled over a rock in the dim lighting but quickly righted himself, grumbling profanities. The tired wizard fixed his gaze on the ground, ignoring the setting sun and allowing the invisibility cloak around him to soothe him in the way it did. The buzz of magic that engulfed the cloak had been a source of comfort for the wizard for years, and it was one of the few things that hadn't changed after his transformation. The familiarity was oddly refreshing.
The stupid, useless wolf was downright frantic. Harry got the feeling it didn't like the Shrieking Shack anymore than he did. Or, maybe it just knew he hadn't skipped out on his Wolfsbane potion - despite being tempted to - so it was condemned to another night of torturous nothing.
The wolf couldn't think that deeply though, so it was probably just scared of the shack itself.
It was dark, lonely. There was nothing to smell. There were walls all around and nowhere to move, and no one to interact with. The night stretched on endlessly.
He snatched up a nearby stick when he finally came to a stop beside the suspicious-looking Whomping Willow. Prodding a knot on the side of the twitching tree successfully paralyzed it, and Harry took that opening to slip into the hidden passage.
He yanked off his invisibility cloak, stuffed it into his bag and made his way up the narrow path and into the cavern that held the Shack's door. Madam Pompfrey was already there.
It was dark, underground, secluded.
It was a bit like walking into a giant coffin.
"I'll be back in the morning, as usual," Madam Pompfrey said in a gentle voice, startling him from his thoughts as she pushed open the door to the Shrieking Shack. It creaked quietly at the action, and she frowned, directing a spell at the door hinges as he walked inside mutely.
"Try to get some sleep," the mediwitch suggested as she began the reinforcement and protective enchantments.
Harry nodded, turning away and walking over to the sitting area. He half-heartedly tossed his bag into a nearby wardrobe.
He cast a quiet Incendio at the fireplace and climbed on to the sofa by it, laying down with his knees pulled up to his chest and drinking in the smell of the firewood.
The fire was magical, and not burning naturally. He could still smell the moisture in the wood. It was from the Forbidden Forest. He wasn't sure when he'd learned what the Forbidden Forest smelled like, but it smelled a lot like magic. He wasn't sure when he'd learned what magic smelled like, either.
Madam Pompfrey bid him a good night as she finished her list of spells more quickly than usual. "I'll bring chocolate in the morning," she added as she stepped out.
Harry lifted himself upright on the couch reluctantly and offered her a strained smile of thanks as she shut the door behind herself.
The wizard curled up on the sofa again, green eyes flitting closed after a moment of watching sparks fly off the fire.
Sleep, I can do that, he thought as he drifted into unconsciousness.
The werewolf awoke sharply at the first spasm of pain in his abdomen, bolting upright on the couch.
Pain shot through the scar in his forehead as the second spasm of pain encompassed his body and he reached up a hand, cursing in frustration as he clutched it. The room spun around him tauntingly and a wave of nausea gripped his stomach.
His wolf was panicking. The pain in his forehead was impossibly worse than it had ever been, and images of a room he'd never been in before - flashes of rage that weren't his own - raced through his mind as he fought against hyperventilating. A cold sweat broke out in a film across his forehead and he swallowed thickly through his tight throat.
The transformation took an agonizingly longer time to set in than Harry was used to.
Spasms of pain would hit him, only to be immediately followed by a stabbing pain in his scar. He choked down the urge to vomit and cast a miserable glance over to the window, but couldn't see the moon from his angle. It was dark outside, and the moon was almost definitely up by now, so why hadn't he changed?
His internal wolf surged forward, knocking Harry out of primary control as his scar stabbed in pain again.
And then the transformation began.
It was undoubtedly the most agonizing pain Harry could have recalled, but he felt it from a distance as the wolf held control of the body. He was aware of the pain, and the scale of it, but didn't have to endure it even as his ribs began to crack individually.
The wolf absorbed the entire ordeal in relative silence, other than the tightening of his breath as his scar seared in pain, a flash of green light played across in his memories, and his spine began to shatter and reshape.
He shoved the wolf out of control as the pain of the transformation began to ebb, and was startled when he found himself looking through his own eyes again.
Never letting him - it - do that again, Harry thought as he staggered to his aching paws.
The large, dark wolf limped up the stairs to the far side of the sitting room and toward the bed in the room he entered, determined to sleep through the night for once. Pain seized his limbs as he reached the base of the bed, and he crumpled forward in surprise.
The wolf surged forward again with surprising vigor and rage, and when the black wolf opened its eyes again, they were glazed over with animalistic fear.
The werewolf flared his nostrils, stretching out his new limbs in a hesitant manner and letting his jaw fall slack so he could drink in the scents around him.
Empty, nothing. The box he was in had no humans. Woods, there was a forest, nearby. Burning.
Panic seized his insides. Something was burning inside this box. Something was on fire, and fires spread. He would burn. He had to get out.
The young, black wolf raced over to a seemingly open space on the far left of the room that showed a wide, open field. He barreled head-first into a thick wall of glass and stumbled back several steps, eyes wide with horror as he observed the window.
He hesitantly crawled toward the strange contraption, ears laid back with his tail low as he touched his nose very hesitantly against the cold, glass barrier.
He let a growl build in his chest, releasing it as a deep, rumbling bark of threat.
The glass remained.
Something probed at the back of the werewolf's distinctly canine mind but he ignored it, shaking his head to remove the flea-like sensation.
The smoke smell was still there, he had to get out.
The werewolf looked around the room, quickly spotting a closed door that didn't look as solid as the walls around him.
He broke into a sprint and barreled toward the door at full speed, leaping through the air at it when he was just a foot away. The door ripped off its hinges under the weight of the werewolf, with the snapping sound of splintering wood.
The wolf stood proudly atop the door, only to find himself in an unfamiliar, dark hallway. Flicking his ears back and forth and drawing in hesitant breaths, it was safe to say that the fire was not coming from there.
Pleased with this discovery, the black-furred creature loped into the hallway, turning sharply down the first open archway that he saw and hopping down a set of steps.
Out of the box, he was nearly out of the box, he was sure of it.
The human thing in the back of his mind stabbed at him angrily, creating a painful, unsteadying sensation. The wolf gave a whimper of pain and fell on to his bottom, reaching up a back paw to scratch at the base of his skull, as if the human in his mind was as easily scraped off as an annoying bug.
Getting to his feet, the wolf ran down the dark hallway and followed the scent of woods to an old, damaged door at the end of an unlit corridor.
The wolf paused, tilting his head in thought as he sized up the weak door. He pulled his weight back on to his haunches and leapt at it, expecting it to come crashing down with considerable more ease than the one upstairs.
He gave a yelp of pain as he was thrown back by a surge of magic, slamming solidly into the wall to the left. A ringing filled his ears as he got to his feet, ears pinned outward as a threatening growl built in his throat.
Releasing a snarl, the werewolf summoned a rush of magical energy and lunged at the stubborn door a second time, ignoring the electric-like shocks of pain.
After a moment, the barrier blasted him back again, this time eliciting a yelp of pain as his head smacked against the ground.
The wolf tipped back his head as he scrambled to his feet, loosing a desperate, frustrated howl.
Answering howls rose up from outside the door, to the wolf's shock. Several different ones, not more than a few miles in the distance.
The werewolf growled in determination, and looked to the ground, eyeing the wood floor curiously. He pushed one paw into the ground, dragging his long claws against the wood and watching it flake away like warm butter.
Giving a howl of delight, the wolf set about digging his escape underneath the door, tearing up the aged wood floor and straight down into the soft earth under the baseless shack.
He wriggled into the beginning of his tunnel, digging as he went and ignoring the strange prickling in the back of his mind as he made his way out into the open forest in a matter of minutes.
He looked behind himself and tilted his head in confusion as he noted he had seemingly crawled out from under a tree. The tree gave a slight shake and the wolf watched in utter bemusement as it swung a branch seemingly of its own accord.
He darted carefully out of the way of the swinging, angry branch just in time, only to be caught in the side of the ribs by the next one and flung over ten feet into the air. He hit the ground with a muted, painful thud, one of his front legs cracking noisily under the weight on impact.
He released a terrified whimper and scrambled to his paws despite the pain in the right front leg, relieved to see the tree had put enough distance between himself and it in one blow that it couldn't reach him anymore. He pulled the weight off of his injured paw and held up it to his body, lifting his nose to the air and drinking in the strange, foreign scents.
Wolves, just a few miles in the distance. Trees, grass, dark magic, and other unfamiliar smells. A giant, just on the outskirts of the forest. Or maybe, not quite a giant. But whatever it was, it wasn't prey, and he wasn't interested. An owl hooted overhead and he peered around in the dark, ears twitching as he listened for anything that might be nearby but masking its scent.
A thestral poked its head out from behind a nearby dark tree and the werewolf tilted its head, feeling a surge of curiosity as he eyed the fleshless, black creature.
It gave a nicker of greeting and took a few steps forward. He staggered back several steps, ears pricked forward and upright as he lifted his tail in an unsure fashion. His fur bristled slightly around him and he forced weight on to his injured leg, releasing a threatening growl.
The young thestral seemed unabashed and simply whickered, trotting toward him curiously and boldly poking him on the top of the head.
He flared his nostrils, drawing in the thestral's strange, empty scent very hesitantly as he pinned his ears down to his head, tremoring slightly in stress.
The thestral gave a playful whinny, shoving the wolf slightly and taking off deeper into the forest, bat-like wings fluttering.
The werewolf pricked both ears in surprise, taking a few hesitant steps after it before it disappeared from view, into the forest. Instinct gripped his insides and he shot forward, ignoring the sharp, stinging pain running up his limb every time it hit the ground in his three-beated lope as he gave chase to the strange creature.
He paused suddenly in his pursuit of the horse-like creature when a familiar, gripping scent slowly floated through the wind. The wolf stiffened, pupils dilating painfully fast as he turned his head in the direction of the taunting scent.
Every neuron in his body fired at once as a snarl built in his throat, the blood beginning to pump to his legs as he dropped into a crouch. He began to creep through the undergrowth toward it, dark fur blending seamlessly into the dark of the forest. He carefully weighed each paw step, not making a single sound in his approach.
The thing in the back of his mind lunged at him very suddenly and he crumpled forward to the ground, all thoughts of hunting vanishing. He reached up a back leg and scratched furiously at the back of his head, a threatening bark escaping him. He pulled his leg down, scrambling to his good three paws and turning, teeth bared as he searched hopelessly for the cause of the pain.
His vision swam before himself suddenly, and he felt the strange human in the back of his mind very suddenly, saying strange, foreign words into his mind. It was mad, the human was very mad.
The scent was closer now, and the wolf banished the feelings of pain and dizziness, turning sharply toward the scent and lifting his nose into the air, loosing an excited howl.
The scent of fear rose into the air almost visibly, but as the wolf made to take the first step toward the prey, he was shoved very sharply back into a deep recess of his mind, overtaken once again by the strange human.
Shit, shit, shit, Harry thought hopelessly as the wolf began almost immediately wrestling him for control. He turned away from the distinct scent of an unfamiliar person and raced into the forest, ignoring the thorns that caught on his sides as he tore through the undergrowth, even as they began ripping off bits of black fur and blood began to drip off of his sides.
He ran until his injured leg gave out underneath him, forcing him to stumble forward and hit the hard ground with a muted thump.
He panted for breath, sides heaving with pain as he did so. The person seemed to have returned to the castle - whoever it had been - because the scent was now entirely gone. Perhaps he'd just put enough distance between them.
Harry lifted his aching head and glanced around his darkened surroundings, silently relieved that wolves had exceptional night vision.
He had no idea where he was, but he was quite sure he was deep into the Forbidden Forest. The wolf had found what was probably some form of emergency exit at the back of the tree, and had dug himself straight into the forest somehow.
Harry was just relieved he hadn't dug himself out on to the opposite side, and ended up on the grounds of Hogwarts.
Blood dripped from the cuts on his sides, and a few burrs remained stuck in his dirt-covered black fur. One in particular was sticking into his shoulder. He looked over to it and hesitantly stretched his muzzle out toward it, gripping the edge of the thorn very carefully with his teeth and pulling it out of his skin.
He howled involuntarily in pain, quickly dropping the burr and scrambling away from it as blood and a strange black substance began to drip from his shoulder.
Must be some sort of magical thorn, Harry thought miserably, lowering his head on to his uninjured left paw as he waited for his labored breathing to slow.
A low howl startled Harry into looking up when he finally staggered to his aching paws again. He ears pricked in alarm and his fur bristled at the sight before him.
Just seven feet away sat an inquisitive-looking ruddy wolf. Harry blinked at her unsurely, quickly realizing that she wasn't a werewolf or an animagus as she took a hesitant step toward him, ears and tail high in apprehension.
Harry lowered his ears in what he hoped was a non-threatening posture, looking slowly to the ground and preparing to fight if necessary.
The wolf took a few more steps forward, eyeing the werewolf with a good deal of suspicion, before finally they were practically nose to nose.
Harry lifted his gaze hesitantly as the wolf gave his muzzle a few sniffs, rumbling a low sort of greeting as she glanced at the wounds marring his sides. Harry pinched his eyes closed as his wolf began to wrestle for control again, but shoved it back this time with relative ease.
The sun would undoubtedly be rising soon. That was probably why the wolf was getting weaker.
What happened? Harry thought miserably, stomach clenching as he thought of what could have happened if he hadn't regained control when he did. The wolf in front of him startled him back to awareness as it took off just past him, straight toward the castle.
Harry watched her go unsurely, and glanced up at the sky.
The moon was beginning to set, so he began to limp slowly back in the direction of the Whomping Willow, now feeling quite sure that he had control over his wolf entirely.
He had a few splinters in his paws, he began to notice the longer he limped toward the castle. He was also losing a considerable amount of blood, as it dripped off of his sides from the cuts from the thorns. His broken leg throbbed angrily even as he kept almost all weight on his other paws.
Madam Pompfrey is going to have a fit.
Without warning, his vision began to fizzle before him and he stumbled over a rock he'd failed to see.
A strangely comforting scent hit him as he collapsed straight to the ground, blackness from the corner of his vision consuming him entirely before he had the chance to identify it.
"Professor Dumbledore has requested that-"
"-I already know, he doesn't need to wipe my memory. And I don't want to be here when Potter gets up."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy I'm not allowed to let you return to class until you speak to the Headmaster."
"This is ridiculous," Draco snarled angrily. "I should never have even-"
Harry cracked open his aching eyes very slowly, quickly meeting the sharp grey gaze of Draco Malfoy, much to his horror.
Draco snapped his mouth shut, flexing his jaw angrily and glancing over to a window on the far side of the room, arms crossed over his chest.
"Why is Malfoy here?" Harry asked in the sharpest, angriest voice he could manage. He refused to breathe in, not wanting the stupid Slytherin's smell to stir any confusing feelings. He hated Malfoy. Why was he there?
What did he know?
He didn't - he couldn't know.
"Mr. Malfoy brought you here," Madam Pompfrey explained, waving a wand over him with a frown of concern. "How is your hand?"
Harry glanced down to his previously broken hand and flexed it slightly. "It's fine," he murmured. He looked for signs of the splinters but was relieved to find none.
"Good, do you feel any pain?" the mediwitch asked as she began measuring out a vial of potion to the left of his bedside,
"I don't understand why he's - here," Harry croaked angrily, glaring at the blond Slytherin and struggling to banish the feeling of warmth at his prescence. Merlin's sake, the wolf wasn't even awake, so why was he relieved to see Malfoy?
Draco made a disparaging noise. "She just told you I brought your pathetic self here. What more do you need to know? And would you please stop breathing through your mouth?"
Harry clamped his lips shut and reluctantly returned to breathing through his nose. "So why are you still here?"
Draco laughed humorlessly, flexing his jaw in obvious stress. "Because I found you horribly bloodied up the morning after the full moon. Dumbledore doesn't think I'm an imbecile, so he intends to wipe my memory. Exactly what I get for helping his golden child."
Harry opened and then closed his mouth, words failing him.
"I'm not his golden child," he said finally, voice hoarse.
Draco laughed. "You aren't concerned that I know you're a werewolf, just that I insulted you? Really Potter, you amaze me every day."
Harry's eyes widened and Madam Pompfrey shoved a potion into his hand. "That's enough, Mr. Malfoy," she said in a clipped voice. "Harry, please drink this," she added in a gentler tone - expression still stern. "Rest, I'll be just a moment, with the - yes," she murmured, seemingly to herself as she scooped up a clipboard and walked off toward her office.
"You.. Found me?" Harry asked after forcing down the potion, grimacing at the taste.
Draco sneered. "Trust me, I already regret it."
"How," Harry demanded, tone devoid of inflection.
"What?" the blond snapped.
"How did you find me?" Harry asked, green eyes wide and unreadable as he fought the growing exhaustion from the potion.
The Malfoy heir was quiet for a long moment, blinking unsurely at the werewolf before shrugging both shoulders, arms falling away from where they had been crossed over his chest. "I just happened across you," he lied. "The trail of blood helped."
"And you normally follow trails of blood into the Forbidden Forest?"
"None of your business what I do."
"Why didn't you leave me?" Harry spat suspiciously, sinking back into the mattress as his tired muscles began to give out beneath him.
"Why indeed," Draco drawled.
"Go to hell Malf-," Harry snarled angrily as the door to the Hospital Wing swung open, startling him into silence.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, and, Harry. It would seem we have much to discuss."
