Chapter 3: Werewolves, or Where in the World is Remus Lupin

"Sirius Black is in the castle?" Oliver echoed. "But how-"

"We don't know any more, Mr. Wood. I have others to warn. Hurry along."

They hurried.

The Great Hall had been cleared of tables, and there were purple sleeping bags all over the floor. Since it was not yet late, most of the students were sitting on top of their bags, talking. Harry quickly found Ron and Hermione, who had saved him a place.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Black got into the castle somehow- no one knows exactly how- and he tried to get into Gryffindor Tower. He even knew the password, but the Fat Lady wouldn't let him in, so he ripped her to shreds, and ran off."

"But- did they catch him?"

"No. They're still looking, but I don't think they will. Black escaped Azkaban; it isn't likely a bunch of teachers are going to get him, is it?"

Harry shook his head.

Very soon after that, the teachers ordered all the students to bed. Harry couldn't sleep, though. He'd been thinking so hard about trying to eat, and what Lupin was up to in the forest, that he had nearly forgotten that there was a murderer out for his blood. So Black had tried to break into the castle; that just proved that he was dangerous, which Harry had already known.

Long after all the other students had fallen asleep, Harry was still laying awake in his cushy purple sleeping bag. He didn't feel in the least bit tired- which was strange, considering how hard Oliver had driven them all in practice that afternoon. He stayed very still, however; for a heavy sleeper, Ron was very alert to when Harry woke up, lately.

It was that very stillness that led to Harry overhearing a conversation, in the hours when the sun was starting to come up and Harry was feeling almost sleepy, finally.

"Can we be sure it was a kidnapping at all, Albus?" Professor McGonagall's stern voice said. "I want to believe the best about my colleagues, but I can't help wondering…"

"Remus Lupin would not go with Black. He, more than anyone, knows how treacherous Black is."

Harry did not even dare to breathe. Lupin had been kidnapped?

"No. I'm sure you're right. But the two of them were good friends once, and Black- well, he was a charmer. He could make you think night was day, if you let him talk long enough."

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose we can't rule it out. But either way, Remus is in grave danger."

"Is it true? Is Black hiding in the forest?"

"I'm afraid that it is, though of course I can't be certain."

"And- about the others, there?"

"Yes."

"We should call the Aurors. There are ways to deal with rogue-"

"They aren't rogue, but acting with the full approval of their leaders. I'm afraid the political situation here is delicate. To mount a rescue might cause a war."

Footsteps, as another person joined the group. "The dungeons are empty. He's escaped." It was Snape.

"Escaped! Every year more danger. It's almost like the war again. Albus- do you think Black will manage to bring You-Know-Who back?"

"We can only hope he doesn't."

"We should be doing more than hoping. If we called the Aurors-"

"This is hardly the place for a discussion of strategy," Snape cut in. "Unless you wish the children to hear?"

With that, the three teachers left.

Harry did not manage to fall asleep at all that night. Lupin and Black had been friends. But Harry was pretty sure that Lupin wasn't Black's friend now. Black wanted Harry dead, but Lupin had saved his life from the dementors on the train

But why would Black kidnap Lupin? What purpose could that serve? The man was a teacher.

Everyone else started to stir, a mass of purple sleeping bags to rise.

"You may all return to your dormitories to shower and change before breakfast," Dumbledore announced. "The danger is gone for the moment. However, I regret to inform you that Professor Lupin has gone missing in all the excitement."

It seemed like the whole castle was talking about Lupin's disappearance, but Harry couldn't share what he'd heard with Ron and Hermione until later. There was no time to be alone; after getting ready for the day, Harry had to dash up to the hospital wing for his potion and a weigh in.

"You aren't gaining fast enough," Pomfrey told him with a worried look. "But you're running short on time, so we'll talk about it before lunch."

Harry got up gratefully. He might have a chance to talk to Ron and Hermione about Black, if he really hurried.

He didn't bother eating breakfast at all, because Ron and Hermione were already finishing up. There wasn't time to waste. Also, the smell of the eggs made him feel slightly ill.

They had only a few minutes before their first class- defense, today. They went to a hall nearby, where no one was at the moment, save a pair of Ravenclaw sixth years who were too involved with each other to notice anything said near them.

Quickly, Harry filled them in on what he had overheard, and told them his reasoning for thinking Lupin had not gone willingly.

"We need to find out what's in the forest," Hermione said. "Everything would make more sense, then."

"Lupin had some sort of protection, he said," Harry mused. "But Black got through it, whatever it was. So it can't have been that good."

But they didn't have any more time to wonder, because it was time for defense.

Harry wondered briefly, as they walked into the room, who would be substituting for the poor kidnapped Lupin. No sooner had he thought this, however, than he saw Snape sitting at the front of the room. Harry made a face. Snape looked no more pleased to see him.

"Find your seats!" he snapped. "Five points from Gryffindor for dawdling."

Harry didn't even bother protesting. All that would get him would be more lost points. He just sat.

"Your usual professor," Snape said with a sneer, as if it was beneath him even to say Lupin's name, "failed to leave notes on his lesson plans."

"Well, of course," Hermione muttered to herself. "It wasn't as if he planned to be gone today."

"So today," Snape said. "We will be learning about werewolves."

Hermione's hand shot into the air faster than seemed possible.

"Sir- we were doing hinkipunks. They're in chapter-"

"Ten points for speaking out of turn, Granger."

Hermione's face went pink, but she went silent.

"Get out your books. I want twenty inches on methods of distinguishing werewolves from human beings and ordinary wolves, due Wednesday. Get to work."

There was a sort of muffled groan from Ron, which fortunately Snape did not notice. The class was otherwise quiet.

Harry took his book out and opened it to the chapter on werewolves, which was nearly at the end of the book. He started to read it, but very soon his eyes started to droop. It was warm in the classroom, and there was a beam of sunlight shining on the desk in front of him, and he was so sleepy- if only he'd been able to sleep last night.

He just barely managed to stay awake through the class period, by repeating in his head, over and over, not in front of Snape.

Class ended just before lunch, and Harry walked up to the infirmary

"Have a seat," Madame Pomfrey said, bustling about to get a potion for a first-year girl who'd managed to burn her eyebrows off with. "I'll talk to you in a moment, Harry."

There was a wait of several moments, really, as the potion grew the eyebrows too bushy, and Madam Pomfrey had to shrink them again. But finally, the hospital wing was empty.

Madame Pomfrey sat at her desk, which was crowded with papers and empty bottles.

"You haven't gained much weight this week," she said. There was a stern look on her face. "You haven't been eating at all, have you?"

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't taste right. And some things smell bad to me, even though I used to like them. Like eggs. Eggs make me feel ill."

"You need to eat anyway."

"I know. I just can't."

"When was the last time you actually ate anything?"

Harry thought. "Er- yesterday I had a bit of sausage. That was okay."

"Harry- if you were eating like this without the nutritive potions, you could very well kill yourself. As it is- this is meant to be a supplement, not everything you eat. Tell me: do you want to get better? To gain weight?"

"Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"You certainly aren't acting like it. I want to see more effort on your part."

"Alright."

"Good. How are you sleeping?"

"Not well."

"Oh?"

"I couldn't sleep at all last night. Nearly nodded off in defense today…"

"Ah." She jotted down a note in a folder on her desk. "You know- Professor Lupin came in last night, before he was- before he disappeared. He was worried about you."

"Oh," Harry said. "Why?"

"The boggart issue that you'd mentioned. He wanted to know a few things. How much occludus solution you were getting, how much weight you'd lost, so on. I couldn't tell him- there's a matter of patient confidentiality here, you know- but it was sweet of him, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Madame Pomfrey studied his face closely. "You know, he was a friend of your father's."

Harry hadn't known, and he wasn't sure why she was telling him this. Lupin was gone. He could have been Harry's own father in disguise, and it wouldn't have mattered.

"There are a lot of people that care about you," she continued. "I just thought you might like a reminder."

"Oh. Alright, then. Can I have my potion, now? I need to go down to lunch."

"Alright, dear. Remember to actually eat something. And finish up that letter. You want to get away from those relatives of yours, don't you?"

Harry nodded, gulped down the potion (it was repulsive, but it always had been, so that was alright) and ran down to the Great Hall, thinking guiltily of the letter still at the bottom of his trunk. He would finish it today. He had to. If he waited much longer, the trial and so on might drag on until summer, and he would have to go back for a while.

As he was walking down the hall, Harry was struck by the implications of what Madame Pomfrey had said. If Lupin had been a close friend of Harry's father, and also of Sirius Black- did that mean Black had been a friend of Harry's father?

If so, that made it doubly wrong of him to go the Voldemort's side. Harry felt a slow anger start to burn in his stomach, and imagined Black in school. He and Lupin and Harry's own father- they might have been like Harry was with Ron and Hermione. Three of them, together, inseperable. And then- how awful it must have been. It would be like if Ron joined Voldemort.

Had James Potter even known? Or had he thought Black was his friend, right up until the end? Maybe they'd grown apart, once James Potter saw how evil his friend had become.

Still- what a rotten thing to do.

Harry ought to have walked down to the Great Hall, to have lunch. He'd promised Madame Pomfrey he would try harder. But he remembered, suddenly, that there were stacks of old yearbooks in the library, on a shelf in the corner. He'd never got around to looking at them, somehow- but maybe there was a clue there, to show if they'd been friends right up to the end.

He went straight to that corner, and tried to figure out when his parents had been in school. He was thirteen- and then there were nine months, presumably, between the wedding and Harry's birth- and then another few years after they got out of school…

Harry's brain was working feverishly, fast but not entirely coherent. It was the lack of sleep, probably. His first guess was a few years off. He found his father, in a dusty picture, on a broomstick about to take off, grinning and making funny faces at the camera. But it was a third year picture, not seventh. The similarity between Harry and the boy in the picture was uncanny; they looked like twins, not father and son. But Harry's skin was paler, and James seemed almost plump when compared with Harry- knobby knees and all. And of course, the eyes were different.

They didn't wait any time at all once the were out of school, Harry realized. They graduated, and I was born… a bit over a year later. They were barely twenty, if that.

He put the book back, and pulled out their seventh year. There was James again, older and thinned out more. He was surrounded by people, but the only one he had eyes for was Harry's mother. They were staring at each other, too absorbed to notice the crowd around them or Harry, looking into the photo. And as Harry stared, they leaned into each other, and James gave Lily a soft kiss.

Look at me, he wanted to say. Just for a minute, look at me instead of each other. But they were only pictures, after all. They couldn't really hear.

He turned the page. There was Lily again, giving a speech and looking a bit flustered. A few more pages, and there was James, piled under three other boys and grimacing at the camera while they drew a huge mustache on his face. One boy was clearly Lupin, though a much younger and healthier looking one- all his hair brown, a huge grin on his face- and there was another boy there, a little heavyset, with small eyes. Harry ignored him, and stared at the fourth boy. He was handsome, in a devil-may-care sort of way. Black hair, muggle leather jacket. He was turned from the camera- he was the one doing the actual drawing on James's face- but every so often he would turn look up, with a huge grin. Sirius Black.

So they had been friends still, then. Had Black been on Voldemort's side even then? Or had he joined him after he left school? Either way- it seemed like Black had stayed, pretending to be the Potters' friend…

Suddenly, Harry realized that he had another source of information- his own photo album. He raced out of the library without even bothering to put the yearbook back. Now that he'd seen the picture of a younger Black, he could swear he'd seen a picture of him before.

Ron and Hermione were not in the tower. No doubt they were still at lunch. Good. Harry had a few minutes, at least, to look at the album alone.

And there- yes, next to James in the wedding picture, there was Black. He'd been the best man. He was standing there, grinning like mad. In the background, Harry could see Lupin, also grinning. Had this been after Black went bad, or before? There just wasn't any way to be sure.

And there, on the next page- Black was holding an infant Harry, next to Lily, who was smiling brightly in her hospital bed. James was nearby, looking more terrified than anything else. And the expression on Black's face- it wasn't evil, or evil a devilish smirk, or anything that Harry could imagine an evil person doing. It was a tender look, a caring look. Almost a parental look.

It had to be after this picture, Harry told himself irrationally. No one on Voldemort's side would look at me like that. They couldn't.

What would have convinced someone to join the wrong side of a war, the opposite side of their best friends? Had Voldemort threatened his family? Made him an offer of something too good to resist? What would have been enough?

The door to the dormitory slammed open, and the wrath of Hermione entered. Harry hastily closed his album and shoved it under his bed to protect it. He'd never seen her looking quite so furious.

"You didn't come to lunch," she said. "Madame Pomfrey told you to eat more, we told you to eat more, but you didn't listen."

"I-" Harry started, but he never got to voice his excuse.

"I brought you some lunch," she said. "And you're going to eat it, now. All of it."

She held out a plate. There was a sandwich on it, and some soup in a little bowl, and some crackers. It wasn't much, but it was still too much.

"I can't," he said.

She set the plate on table next to his bed.

"Harry," she said. "Have you ever heard of anorexia?"

He stared at her for a moment. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. I'm worried about you, Harry."

"I don't think I'm fat, Hermione. I know I'm too thin. I'd eat if I could. It just… It's about the least appealing thing I can think of doing, alright?"

She gave him a look, and suddenly burst into tears. Harry had no idea what to do. He felt like he ought to give her a hug, or say something comforting, but settled for patting her awkwardly on the arm.

"It's okay," he said, as reassuringly as he could, considering he had no idea what she was crying about.

"It is not," she said. She stopped crying long enough to glare at him. "Are you going to eat it, or not?"

Harry picked up the plate, and took a spoonful of soup. It was too salty, but he drank it down anyway. Soup wasn't that bad, really. It was better than anything else he'd tried to eat. He managed to down half the bowl.

"There," he said. "I've eaten lunch. Are you happy?"

"No. You need to eat all of it." But she wasn't crying anymore.

Harry gave the sandwich a queasy look, and made a face.

"What is it about this that bothers you?" Hermione asked. "It's a sandwich. You've eaten them hundreds of times. I purposely chose things without a strong odor or taste, since you seem to be avoiding those."

Harry wasn't sure how to explain it. It wasn't that the sandwich was bad. It was a perfectly good sandwich. It just didn't appeal to him. It was like not being in the mood for something, only a hundred times worse. He looked at the bread, and every instinct he had was screaming "Not today, thanks very much."

"The soup is okay," he said once it was clear Hermione wanted an answer. "I could eat a little more of that, maybe."

"That isn't what I asked."

"I don't know. It just… doesn't look good, I guess."

"So what does look good?"

"Nothing."

"But you go for some foods more than others."

To his horror, Hermione took out a little notebook.

"You've been taking notes on what I eat?"

"Of course. Now- you had a little sausage the other day, and you've had some water or juice at nearly every meal. Soup is okay, but I haven't seen you eat any bread at all this year. Does the texture bother you?"

"What?"

Hermione continued on. "You drink your potion willingly enough, but almost nothing solid. You prefer liquids. Am I right?"

"Er- yeah, I guess."

She wrote something. Harry was beginning to feel like he was in the infirmary again. He took another spoonful of soup.

"But I don't know what any of this means," Hermione said, distressed. "What illness makes avoid eating until you starve?"

"I'm not starving."

"You would be without Madame Pomfrey force-feeding you potions."

"I'm not that bad."

"You are.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"So you don't think it's the dementors, then?" Harry asked, ending the childish moment.

"No. Do you?"

Harry thought for a minute. Even with the potions, he wasn't able to eat any more. "I guess not," he admitted.

"I think it might be a curse," Hermione said. "Cast by Sirius Black."

"If Black could curse me, don't you think he'd pick something more deadly?"

"Maybe he couldn't. Or- I don't know. Azkaban is a really awful place. Maybe he's gone completely insane, and this is some plot of his that doesn't make sense to anyone but him. You'd have to be at least a bit mad to follow You-Know-Who anyway, don't you think?"

Harry was still not fully convinced. "I don't know," he said. "When would he have done it?"

"Well, we know he can get into the castle. It could have been anytime. When you were walking to a class, or something."

"I don't like this. If we assume he's gone mad, we can't assume he has motives. We can't try to figure out his strategy, or anything. That isn't a good assumption to start out with."

"Oh," Hermione said, sucking on the end of her quill as she thought. "That's a good point."

It was so rare that Hermione admitted she was wrong about something. Harry basked in the glow of it for a moment.

"Where's Ron?" he asked, suddenly noticing his other best friend's absence.

"Oh. He's still eating. I left early. I thought you might be here."

There was something left unspoken in that statement, but Harry couldn't quite work out what.

"We only have a few minutes until charms," Harry said. "Maybe we should start walking."

He grabbed one of his candy bars. There were about a dozen left. Well, the first Hogsmeade weekend was coming up in a couple of weeks. He could get more there.

"You're going to eat that?" Hermione asked. "You won't eat a sandwich, but chocolate is just fine?"

"I'm always in the mood for chocolate," Harry said with a grin. "Just don't mention it to Ron, alright? This is my secret stash."

"How often do you have one of those? That isn't a brand I've ever seen."

"Pretty much every day. I like them."

Hermione got a very thoughtful, suspicious look. "Where did you get them?"

"Diagon Alley, before school started. Why?

"Can I have one?"

"Er- I guess. Here." He tossed one to her. She didn't eat it, though; merely tucked it into her bag.

They went to Charms, and Harry soon realized that Ron and Hermione had had some sort of fight. Neither said a word to the other as the class went on. After Charms came Divination, where they had moved on to crystal balls.

"There's going to be fog tonight," Ron muttered to Harry. Harry snorted, and continued staring into his own cloudy ball. He hadn't seen a thing in it so far.

He sneezed. The incense in the room really was far too strong. It would be so much more pleasant in the room if he could open up a window.

"What do you see?" Trelawney asked him from behind him, in an airy voice. "Have you been granted a vision of the future?"

Harry had no desire to play nice today. In his most grave tone, he said: "I see- death!"

She gave a little shriek. "Surely not!"

Hermione snorted, and Ron laughed outright.

"Death," Harry said again. "Horrible- too horrible to speak of."

"Tell us more," Trelawney said, loudly enough that the entire class was looking over at them.

"Er- No, it is too awful. For no mortal must know the hour of their own death, lest life itself become too dreadful to abide."

Hermione gave another snort. Probably she had recognized the exact quote from Unfogging the Future.

"I see it too!" Ron said, squinting into the depths of Harry's crystal ball. He made a face. "Urgh. I wouldn't want to be you, Harry. Look what happened to your face."

No one was even pretending to pay attention to their own crystal balls anymore."Horror!" Trelawney shouted. "Despair!"

Hermione peered into her own ball, apparently determined to ignore the spectacle before her. "Oh dear," she muttered, just loudly enough so that her voice carried. Her face went pale. She stared at Trelawney, then the ball, and back. "Oh, no," she said.

Trelawney rushed over to her. "You, too, have had a vision? Class, the vibrations in this room are strong today! All of you hurry! Gaze into the depths."

"You aren't going to make it," Hermione said, huge fake tears in her eyes. "Oh, Professor- I'm so sorry…"

A look of genuine fear stole across Trelawney's face. "What happens to me?"

"I can't say. Oh, it's too awful."

Ron snickered a little, but managed to turn it into a cough before Trelawney noticed.

"You've been beheaded," Neville said with a frightened look on his face. Probably the fear was more from defying a teacher than in his own prophetic gifts.

Trelawney went quite pale, and toppled over, hitting her head on one of the many small tables scattered throughout the room.

"Do you think that was a bit much?" Hermione whispered nervously. "I didn't want her to hurt herself."

"She deserved it," Ron said. "Don't you remember- she tried to do that to Harry, first day of classes."

Hermione nodded, but still looked guilty. Lavender was glaring at them all.

"If you feel bad about it," Harry said, "you could go get Madame Pomfrey to come look at her. But she'll probably wake up any second now. I don't think she's hurt badly."

"You don't know that! Head wounds can be very serious; she might be concussed!"

But the professor started to stir at that very moment. "Oh," she moaned. "What happened? Have I- have I had a vision?"

"You fell over and hit your head," Lavender said, rushing to the Professor's side and shooting another glare at Harry and his friends. "Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

Trelawney sat heavily in the armchair nearest her. "There is no need to worry. My inner eye informs me that I will be fine. Gather your things. I fear the atmosphere has been disturbed, and no further visions will come to all of us. Class is dismissed."

That was the last class of the day, but there was still a good amount of time before dinner. Harry would have preferred to use it to sleep- he was still exhausted- but Hermione was starting the werewolf essay and he was sure he would need help. Better to do it at the same time, so that she wouldn't get mad at him for putting it off.

The trio sat in the common room to work, surrounded by books Hermione had gotten somewhere.

"I've been doing some work already," Hermione said. "But I've been having trouble finding ways to distinguish werewolves from humans."

Harry wondered briefly when Hermione had had time to do any research, but ignored the illogic of it. Hermione was managing to attend three classes at once. A little research while she'd been in plain sight was nothing.

"Is there some sort of full-moon spell?" Harry asked. "That you could shine on them, and see if they changed?"

"No. People have tried to make one, but real moonlight has magical properties that can't be reproduced in a spell."

"Are they… I don't know, hairier, or something?"

"Well, our textbook says that their knuckles are sometimes hairier, but was looking at The Complete Book of Dangerous Creatures, which is more recent, and it says that isn't right. It doesn't mention any way you actually can tell them apart, though."

"Maybe there isn't one. Wouldn't that be like Snape, to give an essay on something impossible?"

"Maybe. There's quite a lot about distinguishing real wolves from transformed ones, though."

"Well, good. Hand over that book."

Harry busied himself reading the passage Hermione had found in The Complete Book of Dangerous Creatures.

"The werewolf is among the most fearsome of beasts, though it is only dangerous during full moons… This is all the same stuff as in the textbook."

"It has more details."

Harry kept reading, but silently.

Curse Transmission:

Bites by a werewolf in wolf form spread the curse of lycanthropy, and this is the most common way for infection. Less common are ingestion of werewolf blood and the accidental injection of werewolf blood into uninfected humans. (See Medical Muddles: Why Doctors and Magic Don't Mix for a full account of the werewolf blood donation crisis of the 1970s.) Even untransformed werewolves can spread the curse via blood, and for this reason werewolf blood is a highly regulated substance. Contrary to popular belief, in human form, werewolf saliva is not a vehicle for disease transmission.

The curse can spread to a variety of animals as well as to humans. Wolves are the most commonly bitten, as they are sometimes mistaken for rival werewolves. Much less commonly, dogs or large cats may be bitten. The more wolf-like in appearance the animals appear, the more likely they are to be attacked. Infected animals must be killed at once, as they are capable of spreading the curse at all times via bite, and become aggressive. No non-magical animal yet studied has any innate resistance, but most magical animals are immune to the werewolf's curse- in fact, out of all magical creatures, the only one yet found to be susceptible to the werewolf's curse is wizardkind. Wizards with a mixed magical background, such as part-goblins or half-centaurs, are often, though not always, immune, as their innate magic is able to fight off the curse. Individuals affected with another transferable curse, such as vampires, are also immune. In this case, the curse of vampirism acts as innate magic does, and prevents the lycanthropic curse from taking hold.

Harry stopped reading, and remembered what Lupin had said when he'd been injured- I can't possibly be infected. Not It can't be infected, but I. And he'd sounded unhappy about it- bitter almost.

"Ron," Harry said. "Is there some pureblooded thing about people who're part magical creature- like half… giant, or something?"

"Yeah. It's like being against Muggleborns- lot of people are idiots about it. Why?"

Harry pushed the book over.

"Lupin said something, when he was injured that day. He said 'I can't be infected.' And he didn't sound happy about it."

He paused for a moment as Hermione and Ron took in the implications.

"I think," he said finally, "that we might have werewolves in the forest. And Lupin was safer than anyone else- he said so. So he maybe he wasn't entirely human."

"He could have been a vampire," Ron said.

"No," Hermione said. "He had some grey hair. Vampires don't show signs of age."

"What if he was old when he was turned into a vampire? Already with grey hair?"

"It doesn't matter. Grey hair, wrinkles- all those things go away, when a vampire is made. Besides- I've seen him walk by a sunny window. If he were a vampire, he'd have been seriously hurt."

"Well, then- what could he be?"

"Well, anything," Ron said. "Far back enough, most wizarding families have some creature blood. No one likes to talk about it, though, even when it's really obvious. I can't see why he'd be upset about it."

"He didn't sound upset, really. Just… not happy, you know?"

"Maybe that's right, then. And you know- that would fit with everything else, too. If werewolves are gathering in the forest, of course Dumbledore would want to take care not to make them mad."

"And when Lupin was there, he saw too much. They were hinting that someone might have joined the werewolves, only they didn't say they were werewolves. I bet it was Black. He's joined up with them, and then they ordered him to take Lupin from the castle."

"That would mean Lupin was right outside the castle, in the forest."

They all turned, as one, to the window. Through it, they could see the forest. But there wasn't anything there to suggest dangerous creatures were in it- or rather, nothing more than usual. After all, it was forbidden for a reason.

"Werewolves in the forest," Hermione said, quietly. "What are they thinking, letting such dangerous creatures so close?"

They had exhausted all the clues at their disposal, so they went back to working on their essays for a while before dinner. Harry managed a little bit of pumpkin juice and some salty stew, and then went off to bed early.

He dreamed of the man Lupin's boggart had turned into, but in his dream the man was bigger, and there was no Lupin there to save him this time. The man lunged, and as he did, Harry remembered what he had learned today. The people in the forest were werewolves. The man coming towards him was a werewolf.

In real life, Harry had always been able to fight any danger that faced him, or at least run away. In the dream, he was rooted to the place he stood. And the werewolf was snarling, going for his throat- and then the words from the book he'd been reading earlier popped into his head.

Contrary to popular belief, in human form, werewolf saliva is not a vehicle for disease transmission.

Ha! Harry thought. It can't hurt me right now.

But then the werewolf stopped, and laughed. Harry realized he had spoken aloud.

"Can't hurt you?" The werewolf asked. It leaned in close. Harry had expected foul breath, but really there wasn't a scent at all. For a monster, it was impeccably clean- almost sterile.

"I don't need to bite you," it said. "Don't you remember?"

It took out a thin little knife, and cut open its palm. Then it took Harry's hand- and Harry still couldn't move, as if he were under a spell. The werewolf made a shallow cut there, too.

"Of course it isn't as fast, this way," the werewolf said. "It might take months. But there isn't a way to stop it."

"What-" Harry started to ask. He cut off in horror as he realized what was happening. The werewolf had made its bleeding hand into a fist, squeezing out one drop of blood onto Harry's wound.

"You'd think it would be faster, putting it directly into your blood," it said, chattering inanely as it finished and bandaged up Harry's hand, "But this is actually a slower process than the other way."

Finally, Harry was able to move. He jerked his hand away, and backed up until he hit a wall. "Get away from me," he said shakily. "Get away!"

The werewolf laughed, and as Harry stared at the pale face in front of him, he realized there was no escape.

Harry awoke with his heart beating very fast, but managed not to cry out. Merlin! What a terrible dream. He found himself peering at his hand in the dark, just to make sure it hadn't happened. But his hand was whole and unbandaged. It hadn't happened. It was just a stupid dream.

"Are you alright?" Ron mutted blearily from the next bed over.

"Fine. Go back to bed."

Harry fell asleep again, but didn't have any more bad dreams.

A/N:

Alright! Third chapter finished. It's amazing what boredom (Read: a week stuck at a farm with no internet) can do.

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