Chapter Two: Asphodel

"Of asphodel, that greeny flower,

like a buttercup

upon its branching stem-

save that it's green and wooden-

I come, my sweet,

to sing to you.

We lived long together

a life filled,

if you will,

with flowers. So that

I was cheered

when I came first to know

that there were flowers also

in hell."

"Asphodel, That Greeny Flower," William Carlos Williams

Harry blinked at the owl, and the owl blinked right back. It was a large bird, with dull brown feathers and wide eyes. Harry blinked again; the owl stretched out a foot. A piece of twine was tied around the claw, securing a parchment envelope. Harry made no move to take it, and the owl pecked him on the nose. Harry carefully reached out, hoping that his hand would not be bitten, and removed the letter.

Mr. H. Potter

Vanargand

Heath,

Norfolk

There was a strange seal pressed into a blob of wax, with a badger, snake, lion, and raven surrounded by a ribbon of Latin words. He carefully slid a finger under the wax, careful not to tear the strange signet, for he did not know what it meant, and he wanted it intact so that he could later find out. He perused the letter quickly, the parchment feeling rough against his fingertips. He had been offered a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But how? Tyr had never mentioned putting his name down for any school, much less a magical one, and he couldn't imagine Fenrir wanting him to have anything much to do with the wizards that hated werewolves and hunted them so adamantly.

He remembered Dudley being forced into ties, his hair plastered down on his head, being dragged off to interviews for Smeltings, where Uncle Vernon had gone for secondary. Harry had never been interviewed or given an entrance exam for this Hogwarts, so how was he to be enrolled there? Perhaps these things worked differently in the Wizarding world, as so much else seemed to.

Ignoring the owl that was still staring at him with those great round eyes, Harry set off to find Tyr; surely he could explain this. He walked through the rooms of Vanargand, doing his best not to catch the attention of any of the other werewolves. This was something he wanted to keep to himself, or at least to share only with Tyr. Sometimes being different was a bad thing. Packs had to work together in order to survive, and they couldn't have any sort of weirdos hanging around and going against the alpha if they were going to do that. And Fenrir was the alpha, and Fenrir hated magic, and anything that Fenrir hated was different.

He finally found Tyr in the back of the building, in Fenrir's room. He shuddered at the memories: of his first introduction to the alpha, and of later punishments for disobedience. But he didn't see Fenrir, only Tyr, and so he handed the man the letter.

"I don't understand, Tyr. I've never even heard of this school before; did you put my name down?" Tyr looked at the letter in his hand, clutching the parchment tightly in his fist. He did not respond, seemingly somewhere else completely.

"I imagine your parents put your name down," he finally answered. "They would've done so as soon as they knew you had magic, of course, as most Wizarding families do." He had a strange look on his face, one of longing and anger and determination. "It's the best- and really the only halfway decent- Wizarding school in all of Britain. There are a few others, of course, private things, but they can't hold a candle to Hogwarts. You'll learn all sorts of things there, I imagine."

"He's not going," a new voice growled. Fenrir stepped into the room, halfway in a crouch, his fangs gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows. "I refuse to send a pack member to live among those wizards." He twisted the word on his tongue, making it sound dirtier than all the words he had learned from older werewolves, the words he had promised Tyr he would never, ever repeat.

"He is a wizard, Fenrir," Tyr argued. "He may be a werewolf, but he's a wizard as well. He's not going to be denied the chance to learn about magic. You can't deny that part of him, not like-" Tyr stopped talking then. Harry thought it might have been because of Fenrir's sharp glare, of his glistening teeth, but Tyr's face didn't show any fear.

"No pack member attends Hogwarts. You've known that since you first came here, even if you never liked it. That bloody boy is no exception." Fenrir circled Tyr, still in his half-crouch. "I won't have them twisting him to their designs. He belongs to the pack." He ripped the letter out of Tyr's hand,

"He will go to Hogwarts," Tyr said, voice clear and even. He stood up straighter, no signs of submission in his posture.

"No he won't!" Fenrir snarled, lunging for Tyr. He swiped a hand across Tyr's face, long fingernails leaving deep scratches.

"Leave him alone!" Harry yelled, trying to maneuver himself in between the two warring werewolves.

"This doesn't concern you, pup," Fenrir barked, removing one hand from Tyr's throat to swipe at the boy.

"It bloody well does concern me!" Harry huffed, momentarily forgetting his promise not to use that sort of language. "It's my letter!"

Fenrir made a low, guttural noise in his throat, turning towards Harry. "You'll do as I say, pup, and I say that you aren't going to Hogwarts." He kicked at Tyr, advancing slowly on the small boy. "I'd thought you'd learned to listen to your Alpha by now, but apparently I was wrong. And I don't like to be wrong." He smiled in that odd way of his, the kind of smile that made Harry's entire being freeze in fear, the smile that promised that whatever happened next, Harry wasn't going to like it.

"I didn't say I had to go!" Harry protested, baring his neck and lowering his eyes. "Just that you should leave Tyr alone. He didn't do anything wrong."

"Challenging me is wrong!" Fenrir roared, teeth snapping and eyes wild. "I am the Alpha, and my decisions are final!"

"And Lord Voldemort?" Tyr coughed, levering himself to his feet carefully, twinging as his bruised throat ached from the effort of speaking.

"How am I supposed to help him if I don't know any magic?" Harry asked, catching on, trying to be as levelheaded as possible. He wanted to learn magic; now that he knew that Hogwarts was a real place, and that he could actually attend, he knew it was the only way for them to reach their goals. Now he just had to convince Fenrir of that. "And werewolves, too. You want me to use my position as the Boy-Who-Lived to support our cause. How can I do that if the Wizarding world doesn't even know where I am?"

Fenrir growled, but it was different from his growls before. Now, he was annoyed that he had been proven wrong, that Tyr and Harry had managed to utilize the wishes of a higher authority. "I don't like my pups going out into that world. They'll put ideas in your head, tell you that we're evil monsters who can't control ourselves. Bastards don't know anything about us."

He whipped around, facing Tyr once more. "And who do you suggest will take him, eh? I'd like to see you lolloping around Diagon Alley. You've been with the pack since you were a titty-toddy tidbit. If I showed up there, they'd be stabbing me with silver and shooting spells as soon as they could whip out their pitiful sticks." Fenrir paused to let this all sink in. "And none of the other pack members are suitable; I don't trust them with him." Fenrir smirked in triumph. "So there's no one to take him to get his school supplies, all that rubbish listed in this letter. Cauldrons and wands and robes and whatnot; no werewolf needs these things!"

"Harry is right, Fenrir. If you want him to influence the Wizarding world, you have to let him be a part of it. And so he'll need 'wands and robes and all that rubbish,' as you put it, if he's to succeed." Tyr smiled, but it was a bittersweet expression. "And we both know the perfect man to take him to Diagon Alley."

"I'm not going to trust any human with the boy!"

A corner of Tyr's lip flashed upwards. "Of course not," he said placatingly. "Lupin is no human, now is he?"


It had not been a pleasant night. Harry walked down the dirt path towards the ramshackle cottage with heavy eyes and heavier feet. The arguing had never quit, not really. Finally, Tyr had grabbed Harry's hand in his and walked out of Vanargand. Fenrir had moved to follow, but the other werewolves, who had been drawn by the shouting, had blocked his way. Harry still wasn't sure what to think about that; they'd never all gone against Fenrir at once like that.

A few hours and several forms of Muggle transportation later, they had arrived at the small village of Hedera, located somewhere in Suffolk. The countryside didn't seem that much different from the lands surrounding Vanargand, which pleased Harry. He was uncomfortable enough about meeting a strange werewolf that both Fenrir and Tyr seemed to despise.

Quite a few weeds, or perhaps a misshapen garden, lay to both sides of the pathway, hedged in by a dilapidated fence that wouldn't serve to impede a baby kneazle. The door didn't quite fit the door frame, but hung awkwardly upon its hinges, like clothing that belonged to a much bigger man. Tyr let go of Harry's hand, removing a bunch of flowers from his young charge. He motioned for Harry to knock on the door. Harry did so, surprised that the entire croft didn't collapse at the motion. He heard a bit of scuffling from inside, and then the door swung open to reveal a wan man with greying hair. He blinked his eyes, which were a pale brown.

"J-James?" he asked, focusing all of his attention on Harry, who ignored him just as he was ignoring Tyr.

"I thought you said he was a werewolf," he complained to Tyr, a bit put off. "His eyes aren't yellow at all."

"He is a werewolf, though he likes to pretend he isn't," Tyr responded, glowering at the man. "He pushes his wolf down, like the weakling that he is, and it shows." He frowned at Harry, though it lacked the animosity of his former glare. "You need to stop relying on that to identify a werewolf. Your eyes aren't exactly amber either, Harry."

"Tyr-" the man began, only to be interrupted.

"Med Ulfhednar. I gave up my old name a long time ago, Lupin." He showed his canines, but Lupin didn't make any of the submissive motions. "These are for you. A gift for your welcome." Tyr thrust the flowers into the other's hands, his tone indicating that he was not pleased with the fact that he had to deal with the man. "The asphodel and St. John's Wort are from me. The fumitory is compliments of Fenrir." Lupin paled, but accepted the offering.

"Come inside," he invited dully, his eyes fixated on Harry once more. The three sat down at an oak table that was possible more rickety than the fence outside. No one said anything for a long time.

"I'm Remus Lupin," the stranger finally said, offering a hand to Harry. He stared at it blankly. Was he supposed to do something? Lupin winced and retracted the hand.

"Harry med Ulfhednar." Lupin flinched again. Harry didn't make any other move of greeting, unsure as to how he should treat this man. He acted like a human, and yet he was a werewolf. Which set of rules should he follow? He barely even remembered the human ones, as those memories were associated with the Dursleys, and he tried to forget his life with them as much as possible.

"He got his Hogwarts letter," Tyr interjected into the silence, "and he needs his school supplies. Neither Fenrir nor I can take him." Lupin recoiled at the mention of Fenrir, looking at Harry in commiseration. "You can."

Lupin shot Harry a lingering glance, and nodded his head. "I will take him. It would be good to get to know him before the school year starts." Harry raised an eyebrow, questioning. "I have been asked by Dumbledore to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he explained. "I was not going to accept, as my status as a werewolf would surely anger parents... but if you are going to be there..." He stopped, eyes sad and wistful. "Professor Snape can brew the Wolfsbane potion, of course, so it would be safe."

Tyr snorted. "I should have known that you would take that bloody concoction."

"What's Wolfsbane?" Harry piped up, scooting forward on his rough chair.

"It's a potion that pushes down the wolf 'round the full moon. Makes them more human, more controllable. No true werewolf would ever take it," Tyr replied, eyes fixed on Lupin.

"He would if he wanted to live around humans," Lupin countered mildly, still looking at Harry with a wistful expression on his face. "The Wolfsbane potion is set to make the Ministry more sympathetic to werewolves, as it means that they are more like Animgai, rather than beasts."

"I'm certainly not taking it," Harry proclaimed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "If the Ministry thinks we're beasts, that's their problem. I think that their attitude towards lycanthropes is beastly; shooting us up with silver and refusing us a voice. They're the real monsters."

Throughout Harry's diatribe, Lupin's eyes had grown round and shocked. "What did you do to him?" he asked Tyr, voice dangerously quiet. It was if he had just realised, despite the mentions of Fenrir and Tyr's other comments, that Harry wasn't human. "What did you do to James' son?"

"I bit him, obviously," Tyr replied with a snort. "He's been brought up in the pack ways, just like I was. Just like you should have been." Lupin said nothing, but there was a pained look in his eyes. "And if you so much as think of harming him, I'll make sure that lycanthropy is the least of your worries." His amber eyes were hard.

"I would never hurt him!" Lupin protested, springing to his feet and knocking over his chair. "You're the one who bit him, who cursed him-"

"I gave him a gift!" Tyr roared, slamming his one hand down against the table. It shuddered, and one of the legs slid, tilting the table at an odd angle. "I gave him a new life, a new family; what have you done for him? Nothing, except abandon him to those Muggles! It's because of me that Harry will attend Hogwarts at all; Fenrir would never have let him go. Where is the curse in that?"

"You monster," Lupin growled, his voice low. Tyr lunged across the table, which collapsed under his weight. He pinned Lupin to the floor, his hand wrapped tightly around the other's throat. Lupin writhed underneath him, gasping for air, hands trying to loosen Tyr's grip.

Why didn't Lupin submit? He was smaller, and weaker, and he wasn't even a real werewolf, not if what Tyr had said about Wolfsbane was true. If Lupin would just stop struggling, would admit that Tyr had dominated him, then he would be able to breathe. But Lupin would not, and Tyr would not let go, either. He raised up Lupin's head, smashing it back down against the dirt floor.

"Stop it!" Harry finally cried. "Tyr, we all know that you're the better fighter; just let it go!"

"Let it go?" Tyr snarled, turning to face Harry. He dropped Lupin amid the splinters of wood. "He has been a disgrace to werewolves everywhere since he was first turned! He thinks that if he lives like a human, he can be a human. And what do they do? Refuse him employment, laugh at him, curse him! He deserves whatever he gets, from humans and werewolves alike. He's a traitor: to the first wolf, to werewolves, to-"

Tyr stopped himself, biting down on whatever word he had been going to say. He was shaking with rage, barely able to restrain himself from spitting out his last words. The unfinished sentence hung on the air; the atmosphere was heavy with tension.

"We'd best leave, if you want to finish at Diagon Alley before nightfall," Lupin finally remarked, looking at his feet. "Where do you want to pick him up?"

"I will return here at seven," Tyr responded in clipped tones, barely managing to speak through his clenched jaw, his eyes sparking with repressed fury. "Harry..." He trailed off, uncertain of what to say. Tyr moved to stand in front of the boy, kneeling down so that they were nearly eye to eye. "No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, remember who you are, what you are. I'm proud of you, wereling." He gave the boy a brief, awkward one-armed hug, and pushed him gently towards Lupin. "You have a good time, alright? You belong there. You're a werewolf and a wizard, remember that."

He turned to Lupin then, eyes dark and flashing. "If you harm so much as one hair on that boy's head, I'll rip you into pieces." He flashed his teeth in what was definitely not a smile. He said no more, but rather turned around and walked out the door.

Lupin smiled at him, and Harry grinned uncertainly back. "You have your supply list?" Harry nodded. "We'll Floo to Diagon Alley, then." He pulled a miniature cauldron off the mantle, grimacing at the fine green powder that only barely managed to cover the bottom. "Just a pinch, that's all you need, and you throw it in the fire and say your destination." Lupin demonstrated, stepping into the suddenly green flames. "I'll be at the end when you come out, watch for me. You don't want to get out at the wrong grate, so keep your eyes open." And, with a shout of 'Diagon Alley!' Lupin spun away, leaving Harry alone in the small cottage.

He took a small pinch of the powder and quickly threw it in the flames, not liking the way it clung to his fingers. "Diagon Alley!" he said, voice quavering. He began to spin quickly; there was no transition between stillness and motion, and it was quite disconcerting. He tried to keep his eyes open as instructed, but soot swirled around him, and he barely managed to keep one eye cracked to look for Lupin. After a few minutes, though it felt like an eternity, he saw the haggard man and took an instinctive step forward. He stumbled out of the whirlwind of the Floo network, tripping onto the surprised Lupin.

"I do not like Flooing," he announced, righting himself quickly, brushing the soot of his jumper and trousers. Lupin gave him a sympathetic smile.

"The first thing to do, I suppose, is to get your money from Gringotts." He began to lead Harry out of the dark pub they had entered, eyes looking at precisely nothing. Harry, though, could not decide what to look at first. There was a man at least three times the size of anyone Harry had ever seen, with muscles that could surely overpower even Fenrir. In a corner, hidden in the shadows, a sallow woman with uncontrollable blue hair watched the pair with eyes that seemed to glow. Harry thought he could sit in one of the dirty booths with circular stains from sweating glasses and just observe for hours. Unfortunately, Lupin had other ideas. He led Harry out of the pub and into a small alleyway. He paused for a moment, smiling at Harry as he drew his wand out of the pocket of his tattered gray robe. He gently tapped the bricks; Harry gasped in shock.

The bricks folded back, disappearing into the others, and an archway slowly began to form.

"It's magic," Harry said, astounded. None of the werewolves knew how to do any magic, or, if they did, they abstained. They had other strengths, and did not feel the need to wave around a feeble stick that they could snap with only two fingers.

"Yes," Lupin said, still smiling his sad little smile, "magic is beautiful, isn't it? You'll see more at Hogwarts, of course; the castle is a wonder."

They began to walk among the throngs of people, and Harry observed everything with wide eyes. "Why doesn't Fenrir like magic, then? Or Tyr? If it's so wonderful, wouldn't they want to be a part of it?" he asked as they skirted past a large man with a too wide grin full of red-stained teeth.

Lupin stopped, drawing Harry into a small alley between an apothecary and Sevot's Salmanazars. "Harry, it is not a wise idea to mention Fenrir in public. He is not well thought of among wizards. Magic is a wonderful thing, but you must understand that wizards hate and fear werewolves. Regardless of the our actual natures, they- we- are seen as vicious, bloodthirsty beasts. Fenrir does not make a good impression, and prejudice against werewolves has increased greatly since the rise of You-Know-Who. He makes things harder for the rest of us. I do not know how long it has been since you were bitten, but you must realise that he is a monster. Not because he is a werewolf, but because of his actions.

"It is our actions that make us who we are. He has done terrible things, Harry, horrible things. He is not the man I would have chosen to be your guardian."

"I know that!" Harry protested, lifting his head proudly. "He considers the throats of children as a delicacy. But he had me taken away from the Dursleys, and for that..." He stumbled over the words, trying to find the right ones. It was like the time that Jareth had taken him tickling for trout up at the creek, just to the north of Vanargand. The words were there, he could feel them, touching the tip of his tongue oh so lightly like the bellies of the fish across his fingers, and just as unattainable.

"They are your relatives, Harry! I never did meet Petunia, as she was traveling at the time of your parents' wedding, but she is Lily's sister. I'm sure she's very nice." Lupin tried to smile at Harry, but his grin faltered at the increasingly furious expression on Harry's face.

"She wasn't traveling; she told me so herself. When I asked about my parents, she told me all about how she had skipped her 'freakish sister's wedding to that awful boy.' She hated me! My 'bedroom' was the cupboard under the stairs! I did all of the chores, and I didn't eat meat until I was bitten. How nice," he spat out, "does that sound to you?"

Lupin's lips stretched down into a thoughtful frown. "Even so, Harry, I think it would be best if you were removed from there. Your relatives are obviously not acceptable, and it would be hard for you to find a home with a Wizarding family due to your 'furry little problem' as your father called it. But you could live with me."

"I don't even know who you are, or anything about you, other than your name and your 'furry little problem.'" Harry turned away from him as if heading out into the wide avenue. "Fenrir might not be a much of a father figure, but I've got Tyr."

Lupin flinched, though Harry couldn't see it. He began to follow the boy, gently shepherding him towards the oddly tilted Corinthian columns of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. "I knew your parents, went to school with them, in fact. They were good people, kind people." He stopped and sighed, eyes closing as he tried to shut out the memories. "I suppose... if you are happy there, if you are content- if you are not in any danger- then you can stay there."

"I suppose I can too," Harry said with an edge to his voice. "After all, I owe them for what I did, what I ruined for them."

Lupin wisely said nothing as Harry pushed open the large double doors, ignoring the quaint lettering.


They did not speak again, except for the necessary little comments, until they entered Ollivander's. Harry carefully avoided the spindly chair, which looked like it would collapse if he set even one of his thick new spellbooks down upon it. He sneezed as dust filled his nostrils.

"Mr. Potter. Here for your first wand." It was not a question. The man looked positively ancient, like the old, old trees that surrounded Vanargand, the ones that Harry secretly suspected were sentient. He seemed, Harry thought, far too old to be human. "Just like your father, and your mother. I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter, every single wand." Harry wanted to ask how many, but answered his own silent question with a curt "loads."

"You look like your father, of course, except for your eyes. Those belong to your mother, though hers were never quite that green." Lupin, who had perched on the doddering chair carefully, started at that.

"First wand?" Harry asked, surprised. "Do you need more than one?"

Ollivander was measuring him, he realised, a dusky purple measuring tape stretching across his arm, around his head, between his nostrils. "Power changes over time, Mr. Potter," he explained as he ran, your power over to the large shelves that stood like sentinels against the walls. "Just as your body grows, your power does as well. This can call for a new wand, to better suit the wizard. It is the wand that chooses the wizard of course, not the other way 'round." He carefully placed a large, teetering stack of long slender boxes on the single counter.

"Wave the wand, if you please," he ordered, Handing Harry a dark, twisted wand. "Ebony and unicorn hair, a very diametric combination. Harry did as instructed, feeling a bit foolish as he whipped the wand through the air. It made a sputtering noise and grew hot in his hand; Harry dropped it, nearly yelping.

"Apparently not. Hornbeam and phoenix feather, thirteen and one quarter inches." Harry took the offered wand with some trepidation, waving it more carefully this time. The papers layering the counter scattered as if there were a brisk breeze. "Myrtle and unicorn hair, a rather bendy wand, I think."

After half an hour, Ollivander's wand shop looked as if it had been blown apart. Wand boxes lay scattered on the floor, a vase of flowers had crashed and was slowly leaking a viscous grey sludge, and Lupin's chair had somehow disappeared. Harry felt hopeless; what if he wasn't any good at this magic, what if there wasn't a wand for him? How could he disappoint Tyr? He obviously wanted Harry to learn magic, and Harry wanted to do so, to thank him for all he had done, to please him.

"We'll find the wand for you yet," Ollivander muttered every few minutes, scrambling back and forth with dusty boxes in his hands. "Holly and phoenix feather, strong wand for Light magic." Ollivander had a strange expression on his face, expectant and somewhat fearful. Harry again flicked his wrist; the wand shot out black and red sparks that quickly caught on the scattered papers, creating a small bonfire. Lupin drew his own wand and, with a muttered word that Harry didn't quite catch, doused the flames with a small jet of clear water. Ollivander's face was a study in disappointment: brows furrowed, lips pursed, and eyes sad.

"Well then," he said, obviously shaken. "Perhaps not." He grabbed a few boxes of the shelves dishearteningly, pushing one at Harry at random. "Cypress and dragon heartstring, nine inches even." He placed the previous wand in the box sadly, setting it aside from all of the other rejects. "Give it a wave, then, give it a wave." He didn't even bother to look to see if Harry complied.

Harry did so with a shrug, gasping as instead of explosions, soft ebony and violet lights sparkled from the tip, falling softly to the floor, bouncing around a bit before disappearing in a soft ball of bell-shaped petals that blew about the room in a wind that touched nothing else.

"Congratulations, Harry," Remus said softly, though Harry thought that this was more for the benefit of the distant Mr. Ollivander than himself.

"Oh. Oh, oh yes. Well, it is the wand that chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter, the wand that chooses the wizard..." Ollivander ended his rambling, looking off at something again. Harry reached for the coin purse that he had tied to the belt loop of his trousers, but Ollivander waved him away.

"No charge, Mr. Potter. We expect great things from you. You-Know-Who did great things, terrible things, and what else could would expect from his conqueror?" Harry did not say anything, but let the coin purse fall back against his leg. Ollivander did not seem entirely aware of himself, but Harry was not about to press for payment. He was too confused (and too unused to the feeling of having money) to force his galleons down the man's thin throat. What did they expect from him? Terrible things as well?

Remus followed him out of the store, pulling him aside. "Ollivander was right," he whispered to himself, brushing the fringe away from his eyes.

"About what?" Harry demanded, pulling away. "That I'm going to do terrible things? Do you think I'll just start blowing everyone up?"

"No," he denied, still staring, mesmerized, at Harry's eyes. "Your eyes... they are green."

"I know that they're not yellow, as they should be, but we don't know why they never changed." He crossed his arms over his chest, wishing that it wouldn't look stupid if he were to close his eyes and never open them again. Fenrir always made such a big deal out of them, too. Tyr didn't seem to care much one way or the other, and the other pack members found them more of a curiosity than anything else, but he couldn't help but think that maybe he wasn't a real werewolf, that he was like Lupin. "What colour should they be?" he added, hoping that the comment came out as biting, not puny like it sounded to his own ears.

"Brown. That's what they were when you were a baby. You looked just like James, right down to the eyes. But now they're Lily's." He looked as if he were smiling, somewhere deep inside, but the expression on his face was full of a heavy concern.

"No. No they're not. They're not James' eyes, they're not Lily's eyes. They're my eyes." Something needed to belong to him. His life didn't- it was Voldemort's and Fenrir's. His face and form were that of his father. But his eyes... those were his. They weren't Voldemort's lightning bolt scar, or Tyr's bite mark, or Jareth's or any other pack member's cast-offs.

Lupin opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off. "Maybe you knew my parents, but you don't know me. Just stop it! I don't like you!" He turned and fled, quite aware that tears were stinging his eyes, that he was talking like a baby.

He fled blindly in the direction of that first pub, away from Lupin, away from Ollivander, away from all these strange people who kept trying to get a second glance at him.

Suddenly, Harry was crushed against a soft figure, and soft arms encircled him. He could hear the women who held him shouting, yelling, and he forced his head out of her bosom so that he could hear exactly what she was saying.

"How dare you talk to him, scare him! You monster!" Others joined in, heckling Lupin who stood in the midst of them all, head bowed. "He's just a little boy, he's our saviour, and you're trying to make him into a... a monster just like you!" The crowd hissed. "Werewolf!" It came out as a curse, an epithet that inspired fear and hatred.

"Stop it!" Harry cried, tearing himself away from the woman and stepping in front of Lupin. "What's it matter to you, what he's doing? He's just as much a person as you are!" But the crowd just shook their heads, look of pity on their faces.

"Harry," the woman called out, tilted eyes softening and straight black hair swaying as she shook her head. "I know that you're knew to all of this, but you must understand. He is a werewolf, a monster. Whatever he said to you, it was a lie. You're just a little boy, and he's trying to take advantage of that, dear. You're very special Harry, our saviour, and he just wants to twist you."

The crowd nodded in agreement. "If I'm your saviour, why can't I decide for myself? If I can save you, surely I can tell who's a monster and who's not." He fought to keep his lip from curling, had to struggle to keep his voice calm. Fenrir had given him the passion, but Tyr had given him the logic. He knew how to do this, how to convince them that they were wrong.

"And why is he a monster for trying to convince me of something, and yet you can tell little kids lies, and that's okay?" The woman stared at him, and Harry turned, appealing to the crowd. "What about her?" he motioned to a little girl who was pressing her face into her mother's neck and trying to watch with her wide blue eyes at the same time. "You're teaching her to hate, for no good reason."

"But he's a monster!" a bald man shouted hoarsely. "A werewolf, they slaughter children, ravening, insane monsters."

"Only during the full moon! Isn't that right? The rest of the time, he's just another wizard. He's no different for you," the sneers switched to incredulous looks, "or me." There was a general outcry at this.

"Harry Potter!"

"Our saviour!"

"You're pure, you're not a monster!"

"No," he said, hoping that he could manage this. These were adults, and he was just a kid. He felt the urge to bare his neck and arch his belly in submission. "I'm not a monster. And neither is he." In his mind, it had all been so easy. He knew what was right, and everyone would listen, and things would be better. That was how it was supposed to work. It wasn't fair!

He took a deep breath. He only had so much more to give. "I don't think he's a monster at all. I think..." his voice quavered, and he couldn't stop it, and he didn't sound anywhere near as forceful as he wanted, "that the true monsters are those who hate others for something they can't help." He kept his head up, but that was the best he could manage. He walked away, grabbing Lupin's hand and pulling the other werewolf with him.


Harry launched himself at what he hoped was Tyr, the soot from the Floo and the tears in his eyes blurring his vision. "Don't ever make me go back," he pleaded, sobbing into his shoulder, "I don't want to go there, I hate it, don't make me!"

Tyr held the boy as best he could, supporting his weight with his arm. He glared at Lupin over the boy's head. "I told you to keep him safe, Lupin. What the hell did you do?" He pulled Harry closer. "As soon as I get Harry back home, I'm going to-"

"Stop it, Tyr," Harry hiccuped, fighting back his tears as best as he could, trying to be brave, to show Tyr that he was strong enough. "It's not him, not all him, anyway."

"Thank you, Harry," Lupin said quietly. "For what you did for-"

"I didn't do it for you," Harry growled, his nose feeling full of wet cotton and a headache pounding at his skull. "I didn't do any of it for you. I did it for Tyr, for Tyr! If it was for you, I wouldn't have said a w-word." And he collapsed back onto Tyr, losing the battle against the onslaught of tears, and begging the man to never, ever make him go back to the wizards again.

"Shh, wereling," he soothed, tucking Harry's head under his neck. "We'll get you home, where you belong, away from the big bad wolf." This brought a choked laugh from Harry, but he still clenched his fists tightly to Tyr's leather jacket, knowing that he was ruining it with his tears and not caring. Tyr led him out the door, out of the cottage, out of the world he had come to despise, but not before turning to snarl at Lupin.

"But I'll be the one to huff, and puff, and I'll blow your fucking head off."


Asphodel: My regrets follow you to the grave
Heath: Solitude
Ivy (Hedera): Anxious to please
St John's Wort: Animosity
Fumitory: Hatred
Oak: Strength
Ebony: Hypocrisy, blackness
Myrtle: Everlasting loveliness
Holly: Life, Immortality
Cypress: Adaptable, faithful, quick-tempered
Canterbury Bells: Acknowledgment