An update!

HoneyBear84: Thanks! That's actually really interesting, I hadn't seen that yet.

DarkNutDestroyer: I don't think Harry's reaction is surprising either (and Sirius isn't surprised, after all), but Remus is always more pessimistic when it comes to his condition, and is so used to the prejudice and hate he automatically expects it. About the James and Lily influence, it's more that they want to see it. Both miss their dead friends terribly, and having Harry around to remind them of his parents means they might see things that aren't really there, or interpret a bit too much because they want to see James and Lily in him.

Skybox: Interesting plot ideas, really. Not what I decided on, but it might have worked better...ah, well.

TheAmethystWitch: I can understand your troubles! I've got the same problem, where often I really like the idea of a fic but then get put off by the bad execution. Very glad you like my story :)

alix33: Somebody recognized the book! I quite enjoyed the books when I was little and my parents read them to me, but I guess they can be a bit strange.


Full Moon

Even though he was certain that nothing bad would happen, Harry still felt nervous the closer Tuesday night came.

Would Remus get hurt again?

Would Kreacher?

The former seemed to get more ill every hour, not even coming down for breakfast on Tuesday morning. As they ate their muesli, Sirius chatted about what Harry wanted to do today, and how they could try and build a fort out of some of the old furniture in one of the abandoned rooms later that week, but he didn't sound as enthusiastic as he usually did, and his eyes kept flickering towards the ceiling.

He spent most of the morning upstairs in the attic, probably preparing the spells that would lock Remus in.

Harry, having spent an hour of listlessly reading through his book on Greek mythology, finally decided to check on Remus.

Armed with a cup of tea and a plate full of cookies – cookies was what Dudley had always gotten when he was sick, even though his had been accompanied by a glass of milk – he tentatively knocked on the door, his book under one arm, Prongs in the other.

For a few seconds nothing happened, and with a pang he realized that Remus was probably asleep. But then he heard movement, and a quiet voice called out. "Yes?"

"It's me," he called cautiously. "Harry. I made you tea, and I... I was wondering if you could read to me. If you don't feel too sick, of course!"

Again there was a small pause, but then the door opened, and revealed a smiling Remus, lying on his bed with his wand still in his hand. "Come on in, Harry. I'd be happy to read to you."

Sitting next to Remus, listening to his calm voice, helped a lot, especially when Sirius joined them a short while later, conjuring a comfy chair for himself to they wouldn't push Remus out of his overcrowded bed.

They spent most of the day reading, Sirius taking over when Remus' voice grew hoarse, and Harry barely noticed the sky darkening outside, his worries lost in the wonderful world of Pippi Longstocking.

Only when Remus grew increasingly twitchy, and kept throwing glances to Sirius, did Harry realize how late it had gotten, and his worry returned.

Dread filled his stomach when Remus finally sat up. "It is time"

Reluctantly, Sirius nodded. "Alright. Want to eat anything before you go? There's still some soup left downstairs." He pointed towards the empty bowls of their improvised lunch.

But Remus shook his head. "No point." He slowly started to get up, visibly struggling.

Sirius quickly rose to his feet, supporting him. "Why don't you go and get your things down to the study, Harry?" he asked, smiling a smile that didn't look very convincing to Harry.

Harry nodded mechanically. It had been agreed that he and Sirius would spend the night in the study on the ground floor, as that was the furthest away from the attic they could get. Harry was secretly glad about it; having Sirius with him would make the whole ordeal a lot less scary.

Still, the idea of parting with Remus didn't agree with him at all.

"Do you really have to go?" he asked in a last, desperate attempt. "Can't you...stop it with magic?"

Remus' smile was just as strained. "Like I told you, Harry, there is no cure. I am sorry."

"You shouldn't be sorry, it's not your fault," Harry said, frowning, before dropping his gaze. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

Remus didn't answer, but Sirius quickly tousled Harry's hair. "He'll be alright, Prongslet. I promise I'll patch him up tomorrow morning, and you'll get your Uncle Moony back good as new."

Reluctantly, Harry nodded. "Okay...Good night, Remus. I hope you don't hurt yourself too badly." He carefully put his arms around Remus, and to his relief he felt himself being hugged back.

"Good night to you too, Harry. And don't worry, I won't be able to hurt you."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "That's not what he's afraid of, prat," he muttered, probably not intended for Harry to hear.

Back in his own room Harry deposited Prongs on his bed and started to gather his pyjamas and some fresh clothes for the next day, hoping the activity would get his mind off the terrifying things going on upstairs.

As it happened, it didn't, instead brining different fears to his mind.

Kreacher.

He had warned the Oompa-Loompa, of course, but since then he hadn't spoken to him again, never quite daring to slip upstairs. Yet he didn't feel like Kreacher had taken his warning very seriously.

Did he know what having a werewolf in the house meant? Did he know how to keep himself safe? He always seemed to be staying at one of the upper floors, closest to the attic. Would Sirius accidentally lock him in with Remus?

Abandoning his half-hearted packing, Harry came to a decision, and grabbed Prongs.

He could hear muffled voices as he slowly ascended the stairs, but they were coming from far above him, and he supposed he'd have a few uninterrupted minutes. Without wasting any more time, Harry dashed into Kreacher's corridor, knocking on the door loud enough for a grumpy-looking portrait to wake up and frown at him.

"Kreacher?"

This time he barely had to wait for the Oompa-Loompa to answer. "Master Brat wishes?"

"Don't call me – I just came to warn you about Remus again. It's the full moon tonight, remember?"

"Kreacher remembers."

"Well...Remus will be upstairs, so you should probably move to a lower floor. Sirius and I'll be in the study downstairs...you can join us if you want; I'm sure Sirius wouldn't mind."

"Kreacher is not allowed downstairs. Master forbids it."

Harry frowned, wondering once more who this malicious Master was.

"Then...you can go into my room," he suggested, his heart hammering in his chest when he noticed the voices above him stop.

He was running out of time.

"It's mine, so he can't forbid you to go in there, can he?" he reasoned. "And it's right on top of the study, so if you're in trouble, you just have to shout – or apparate, you can apparate, right? – and Sirius will come and help you."

"Harry?"

"I gotta go!"

He spun around and raced back to the stairs, just as Sirius was coming down from the floor above, a surprised look on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry flinched. "I just...I wanted to see if Remus would be alright," he mumbled, feeling his face burn with shame at outright lying to his godfather. "I was worried." That wasn't a lie, he really was worried.

To his relief – and further guilty conscience – Sirius' expression softened.

"Come here, Prongslet," he said quietly, bridging the last few steps between them and lifting Harry of the ground to draw him into a firm hug. "It'll be alright," he promised, slowly moving down the remaining stairs with Harry on his arm. "It's horrible, but he's been through it before. And there's really nothing we can do right now."

Harry knew he was a little bit too big to be carried like this, but right now he didn't mind, thankfully burying his face in the comforting warmth of Sirius' robes.

"Did you get your things ready?"

Harry nodded quietly, not looking up, and felt himself being carried into his room. There was a flicker of movement and a whispered word, and he heard the ruffling of cloth. As he was carried down to the ground floor he could see his pyjamas floating down the stairs after them, dancing around like a ghost in an invisible breeze. It looked rather funny, and it lifted the dread he felt somewhat.

It'll be okay. Remus will be alright, Kreacher will be safe, and Padfoot will keep away the nightmares.

..-

The boy had long fallen asleep, curled into the soft belly of the big black dog, the worried frown disappeared from his peacefully slumbering face. Yet the dog's eyes were still opened, grey orbs reflecting the dim street lights filtering through the curtains. He shifted his front paw, hugging Harry closer to himself, and let out a low sigh.

It wasn't very comfortable, squashed together on the couch, his long limbs in constant danger of slipping off, but he knew Harry liked sleeping here, and there was no way he would let the boy sleep on his own tonight.

So he lay silently, his ears twitching whenever there was a noise or other, the house sounding so different, so much louder, from a dog's perspective. Yet it wasn't the noises, or even his uncomfortable position that kept him up, but an unwillingness to go to sleep.

He knew there was no point in staying awake, knew that the wards would hold. And even if they didn't, a marauding werewolf would wake him up in time to save Harry.

But it felt wrong to go to sleep, knowing that just a few floors above him his best – and currently only – friend was ripping himself apart.

Despite what they had told Harry, and despite what Remus had said to him, Sirius knew that tonight would be worse than usual.

Remus had told them back in school how the wolf had always been able to smell the humans in the castle and in Hogsmeade, the dozens of warm bodies, prey, just out of his reach. It had driven him into a mad fury, knowing they were there and not being able to get to them.

Sirius knew that it would not be any better tonight.

Wizards – humans in general – didn't depend on their sense of smell much – they didn't actually have one, compared to the canine perspective – meaning that there weren't a lot of spells that focused on blocking them. Sounds, lights, of course. But scents...

He could smell Remus, could smell the wolf so close to him. It didn't frighten the dog – the wolf was his pack mate, after all, and old friend who he longed to meet again – but the man inside him was deeply worried, especially once the scent of wolf mingled with that of blood.

Everything in him screamed to go up there, to save his friend from himself, from the monster that had overpowered him. But he knew that he couldn't. Back at school, nothing would have kept him from helping one of his friends, be it rules, laws or even Death Eaters. But now there was something that counted more than friendship.

Harry. You would kill your best friend to save him.

It frightened him, really. Loyalty to his friends was the one thing he had held true above everything else his whole life. And yet he hadn't just said that to convince Remus, he had meant it. He would kill the werewolf should he endanger Harry.

Would James have done the same? Would Lily have?

He knew the answer.

His eyes wandered outside, towards the flickering street lights out on Grimmauld Place. The outside...had Dumbledore known what it would mean, sealing them in?

He must've – there was no way Remus' condition had simply slipped his mind, or that he had neglected to check the lunar calendar.

Had he hoped they would give in out of fear? Remus nearly had, would have if Sirius hadn't managed to stop him. Had that been Dumbledore's plan? Blackmail them into submitting?

Probably.

He had long lost the blind faith he had once had in the headmaster.

During the war, it had been nothing but an uncomfortable inkling. Dumbledore was their leader, their hope, the only thing keeping them from collapsing completely in the face of overwhelming darkness. But it had also been clear that defeating Voldemort had been his ultimate goal, a goal he would do anything to achieve.

They had all had their limits, things they fought for, things that were more important to them than victory. For Sirius it had been his friends, James and Lily had fought for their future, for Harry to grow up safely. Remus had fought against the monster in himself, desperately trying to escape its shadow, proving that his life was not dictated by the evil that Greyback had put in him. And Peter... back then, Sirius had thought he was fighting for the same reason he was, to help his friends, make good on the promise they had given each other in first year.

Turns out the only thing he was fighting for was his own life.

Dumbledore, however...where Sirius would rather have seen Voldemort triumph than lose James, Dumbledore had no such qualms. He would send them into fight after fight, knowing it would likely mean their death, accepting it with the cool calculation of a general.

Not because he didn't care – Sirius had seen tears in those blue eyes often enough; he knew the headmaster grieved just as much as the rest of them for every fallen comrade – but because he had known that it was necessary.

And maybe he had been right – the war had been won, if at terrible cost, the wizarding world had not fallen.

It wasn't that Sirius blamed Dumbledore for his actions, or for the way he had led them. If Voldemort were to return tomorrow, and if he was in any position to do so, Sirius would re-join the Order without a second thought.

But would you trust him with Harry?

He himself wasn't completely sure why he so vehemently opposed Remus' idea of contacting Dumbledore, of making their peace with the Order. It was obvious that Dumbledore did believe in his innocence, and despite what he had told Remus, Sirius did not think that the headmaster had lied in his Patronus. He did want to help them.

But there hadn't been anything about Harry in that message, and Sirius couldn't shake the feeling that any deal with Dumbledore probably entailed the boy's return to Privet Drive.

The dog let out an involuntary little grow at that thought.

Over my dead body. I promised him he would never have to go there again, and I intent to keep that promise.

Yet he couldn't help but wonder why.

Dumbledore rarely did anything without careful consideration – except for his speeches at the welcoming feast, maybe – and it was hard to believe he had sent Harry to his Aunt and Uncle simply out of convenience.

There would have been dozens of magical families who would've happily taken him in – Remus being the first choice, even though he probably would have refused because of his condition – and even if he had meant to shield Harry from the fame and attention – something that Sirius couldn't help but agree with – he could've found a muggle family who wouldn't lock him up in a cupboard and treat him with all the warmth one would give a yeast infection.

Yet he had brought Harry to Privet Drive.

It hadn't been to harm Harry, obviously, as Sirius knew that even if Dumbledore didn't care for Harry personally – which seemed unlikely, given how fond he had been of James and Lily – the headmaster would never intentionally harm any child just for the sake of it.

If not to harm him, maybe it was to protect him?

But from whom? Granted, there had still been a lot of Death Eaters walking free in the aftermath of the war, as the case of the Longbottoms proved all-too terribly, and even now there were probably those who longed for Voldemort's return, and would jump at the chance to get rid of the boy who had brought about his downfall.

Well, he's a lot safer in here than in the hands of those sodding muggles. The way they just handed him over to us, they'd probably have invited the Death Eaters in for tea had they told him they planned on murdering Harry.

Harry was safe here. Dumbledore obviously had no way to get in, otherwise he'd already be standing on their doorway, and the ministry was just as clueless. Even if there were Death Eaters planning to kill Harry, they had no chance to even get close to him.

We're safe. We'll always be safe here.

And yet the uneasiness did not leave him, sticking to his fur like fleas, nesting in the darkness inside him.

What if we are wrong, and Dumbledore is right? What if we have doomed Harry by taking him away?


Sorry about all the angst, but this was never gonna be a happy chapter.

I've finished the next one but it might still be a while before I post it, due to my rather irregular schedule right now. It shouldn't take too long, though!