Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or any of the publishing rights here. The all belong to Raincoast books and JK Rowling. However, I do own the plot, and that, in itself, is mine.

A/N: I figured i'd post all three chapters at the same time, as they have all already been updated at is something I'd like to make notice of regarding the last chapter:

Some of you may be wondering about the odd sentence that occurred during Harry's dream of Voldemort (The eyes lifted, and the man turned to face forward in his chair, staring directly at the boy with green eyes who wasn't there.) I understand that this may have caused some confusion, as I was not entirely clear. What is meant by that sentence, is that Harry was not actually there with Voldemort (in the physical sense), but Voldemort could still sense him, and knew exactly where he was. I hope that cleared some things up.

Please Review.

Chapter Two: Boys Don't Cry

Severus ran a lean hand along the cracked surface of an old wooden chair. He stood tiredly in the kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place, scrutinizing the poor state in which the Wolf had let it reach. He cast his obsidian gaze around the room, taking in the crooked objects, and dusty coverings. The room hadn't seen much use as of late. All of the Order meetings had been moved to the sitting room, and the only person living in the grim old house, was but the Wolf himself.

He sighed heavily and folded his arms across his chest, glaring half-heartedly at the door, from which he could hear the muffled voices of Dumbledore and the Wolf. He had originally been called here by Dumbledore to discuss something with him and the Wolf, but the stupid animal had dragged him aside, asking for a 'private conference, if you will'. Something to do with a bloody letter. From Potter, no doubt. Did that boy ever stop whining?

He glanced up and loosened his arms slightly as he heard rustling and shifting feet from behind the door. He watched as the doorknob turned and quickly schooled his face into his usual mask of neutrality as he watched a downcast looking Remus Lupin trudge into the room. Not that he ever looked any different these days. Dumbledore closely followed, shutting the door after him, and wearily rubbing his eyes.

"Now that you two have quite finished your nice little 'chat', may I please be blessed with the knowledge as to why you have called me here?" He snapped. Not that it really mattered. It was a far cry from the haunting, empty space of the Snape Manor, and as much as he disliked the Wolf, he had to admit it was nice to see another breathing creature for a while.

Remus glared at him then shook his head, pulling a chair out and sitting down. Dumbledore took the chair at the head of the table, and gestured for Severus to sit down beside him. He simply cast the man a dark look, and tightened his arms across his chest. 'I'll be damned if I'm going to sit on that dust covered chair in my good robes.' He thought.

"There is something I need to ask of you both," Dumbledore began, "and I figured it would be best if we kept this from the whole Order for the time being."

Remus and Severus shared a look.

Dumbledore rubbed his snowy beard and sighed. "As you know, Voldemort has already achieved in gaining Fenrir Greyback to his list of supporters, and is easily managing to acquire more werewolves for his side. You both know as well as I do, that if Voldemort were to plan an attack on the night of the full moon, with that many werewolves at his command, the effect would be devastating. In light of this, it is with a heavy heart that I must ask something very trying of you, Remus."

Severus watched in sick delight as the Wolf sucked in a quick breath, his expression going pale. "Albus, please, you don't under-"

The elder man raised a hand to stop him. Remus' mouth shut tight, his eyes wide. "I know this is hard for you Remus, but you must. For the good of the Order, and the world, you must. I need you to infiltrate a werewolf clan here in London. They call themselves the, 'Waybearers'. I will need you to assume an alias, and take as long as you need to sway them to our side. Use whatever methods you need to. The idea, is that once they have been convinced, then you, as well as the others of this clan, can spread out across London, achieving the same goal, and then on." He gave a slight smile, "It will be all cause and effect from here on out."

Remus stared. "How can you sound so confident? This plan isn't exactly curse-proof. There are so many ways I could fail…"

"And so many more ways you could achieve." Dumbledore sighed. "I know this may seemed far-fetched, and it would take a lot of work, but it truly is our only chance. I deem that they would better listen to you, then to me."

Remus rubbed his eyes. Severus stared at the two, wondering where he came to play in this. "But Albus, how do you expect me to persuade them?"

Dumbledore glanced cautiously at Severus, who narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You can promise them continuous supplies of the Wolfsbane draught, if the are to take our side."

Remus glared. "I hope this works."

"So do I."

Severus frowned, becoming impatient. "And what of me, Headmaster? Surely I was not brought her just to hear you dithering at the Wolf."

"You will not be too happy about what I have to say either."

Severus took a menacing step forward. "You can't be serious…?" He was pretty sure he already knew what Dumbledore wanted, judging by the task set to the Wolf.

Dumbledore nodded.

Severus gritted his teeth to keep from shouting at the old man. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. 'I really need a drink', he thought. "They'll never listen to me, Dumbledore. There may not be near as many of us as there are werewolves, but they will most likely be harder to persuade. You know the benefits promised to them from the Dark Lord."

"I do." Dumbledore nodded again, pursing his lips. "But you must try. We cannot let him sway them all. I am sure not all their families made pacts with Slytherin of old. Yours did not."

Severus glared, feeling his temper rising to the surface. "This will never work." He turned and walked towards the door. As he placed his hand on the knob and wrenched it open, he turned back. "Mark my words, you will have swords in your gut before claws on your flesh. They will not take the Dark Lord idly. To them, you are nothing but a weak fool. What is a man without wings?"

He stepped out into the hall, and Dumbledore called from behind him, "You do not have a choice, Severus."

Obsidian eyes turned to flame.

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Harry ran a tanned finger along the soft plumage of Hedwig's underbelly. She gave a soft cry and nipped at his finger, rubbing her head along his hand. It had been roughly two weeks since Hedwig had left with his letter, and a week and half since she had returned, with no return letter grasped in her claws.

Tomorrow would be his birthday. Seventeen. Seventeen and completely alone. Well, except for the Dursleys, and the most they ever did to acknowledge his birthday was to tell him he was old enough now to cook their meals.

Why couldn't they have even sent him a letter saying that he couldn't come?

He sighed and moved his hand over to the drawing of Snape. He ran his fingers along the thick lines, his head propped up in his hand. He vaguely wondered if his potions professor remembered him, even if it was only in the slight moment wherein he would shudder, and recoil at the thought of having him for another year, another class.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he looked away. Standing up, he turned around, and his gaze settled idly on a picture resting on his desk. He watched as Ron and Hermione waved at him, and picture Harry smiled slightly, in a vain attempt to reassure whoever was taking the photo that he did not mind being squashed to the side. The Third Wheel.

Oh, but he did.

He fucking hated it.

They had each other. They were loved for who they were, not for who they were supposed to be. They had everything Harry had ever wanted. To be loved. Sure, he had people who loved him now, and always would, despite him being The-Boy-Who-Lived, but he always knew it wasn't enough. He had always wanted what Ron and Hermione had together; someone to stand by you through thick and thin, someone to just hold you, and listen to you rant, and scream, and cry. He wanted someone for his own. He didn't care how selfish that sounded; it's just how he felt.

However, he knew, deep down, that that could never happen. Not to him. Too many people only wanted him for his fame, and he knew this. How could he know if someone truly wanted him, for him alone?

Besides, it didn't quite help his situation that he was gay, now did it?

Harry stared at the picture, beginning to shake. Hot, angry tears rolled down his cheeks, and he shook his head, falling back onto his bed, and drawing his knees tight up to his chest. He began rocking back and forth, trying his best to hold back his dry sobs, feeling disgusted with himself for showing such a sign of weakness.

Harsh pictures of his Uncle Vernon when he was younger filtered into his mind, and he roughly slapped himself across his cheek, shaking his head violently, and muttering through gritted teeth.

"Boys…Don't…Cry…" He sucked in a deep breath, "Only…Freaks…Cry…" He collapsed into his pillow and cried aloud, childishly pounding his fist on the mattress, but not caring, glad that the Dursley's were out to dinner. He twisted the rough sheet between his fingers, and screamed into the pillow, his throat raw.

"FREAK!"

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Remus Lupin ran a hand tiredly over his face, as he reread the letter from Harry that Ron had sent him, along with his own pleading letter. He sighed and dropped it on his desk, placing his face in his hands, shaking his head in disdain.

He knew it would be fruitless to ask such a thing of Dumbledore, but he knew he had to, for Harry's sake. His face twisted bitterly. Thanks to Dumbledore, he wouldn't be there to see Harry, but as long as he was happy, that's all that mattered to Remus.

However, now, even that was ruined. How could the man be so ignorant? Couldn't he see how Harry was treated at the Dursleys? His physical state upon return to Hogwarts every year was enough of a clue. He took a deep breath and lifted his head tiredly. His eyes settled on Snape, as he walked by the opened door of his study, hands clasped behind his back, and head turned down in thought.

Remus stared at the spot he had been, long after he was gone, his mind already forming an idea. He smiled mischievously, and grasped the letter again, rising from his chair, making his way to the sitting room, where he knew Dumbledore would most likely be, poring over charts from the meeting that night.

He wasn't a Marauder for nothing.

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Severus was walking along the hall, heading for the sitting room, when he was suddenly shoved aside, and flung against the opposite wall. He stared in shock as the Wolf stormed past him, a wild look in his eyes.

Angered, Severus strode forward, "Just what do you think you're—"

He was rudely cut off when the door to the sitting room was slammed hard in his face. He could just hear the Wolf's excited blabbering, and could imagine the damned twinkle he knew to be in Dumbledore's eyes.

This couldn't be good.

A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review. There's a cookie waiting for anyone who can figure out what it is that Remus is planning. winks. XoXo Crowley.