DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.
Chapter Five - Caged
By lunchtime Friday afternoon, everyone at Hogwarts knew Harry Potter had been given his own suite of rooms. The reason for the move hadn't been disclosed, and thus, was open to speculation. Gossip was rampant, though, and already the rumours were flying faster than a bad case of Wizard Pox. What there wasn't, however, was a single whisper about the incident that had occurred in the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry assumed that meant Dumbledore had waved his wand and wiped the Gryffindors memories clean.
With a sigh, he dropped his chin into his palm, glaring across the Great Hall at Draco Malfoy. The blond was easily ignoring him, his entire attention seemingly focused on the plate sitting before him. Curling a lip, the dark-haired wizard stabbed his fork into the last sausage on his plate, pretending not to notice the elbow Hermione dug into his side. After a long night of thinking - and a very stern lecture from both McGonagall and Dumbledore - he had come to the conclusion that Draco Malfoy was indeed the manufacturer of the werewolf rumours. Not that that meant he'd be apologizing to Ron anytime in the near future.
"You coming, Harry?" Dean asked loudly from the other side of Hermione, gesturing at the retreating forms of Seamus and Ron. The wizard held a piece of toast in one hand and his History of Magic text in the other, a sure sign that the group was heading to class.
"I'll be right behind you," Harry said, pushing the last piece of sausage around his plate. His eyes shifted from Malfoy to Dean, watching silently as the other Gryffindor strolled from the Hall, undoubtedly internally rallying and re-engineering another way to make Harry and Ron interact. It had obviously been decided by the Gryffindor sixth years that the rift between Ron and Harry could be fixed by constantly forcing the pair into close contact. So far, the theory had resulted in several loud arguments and a number of physical altercations that generally landed the pair in detention. Nevertheless, the group believed it was only a matter of time before some form of understanding was reached between the duo. Harry hoped none of them were holding their breath.
Hermione stirred beside him, a frown pinching her features as she turned to look at him. "You are going to class, right?" She asked suspiciously, picking up the book bag that had been resting between her feet.
Her question wasn't exactly unfounded, as Harry had yet to make an appearance at any of his morning classes. "Probably not," he replied truthfully before shoveling the syrup soaked sausage into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his gaze unconsciously returning to the section of the Slytherin table occupied by Malfoy and his cronies. His mouth stilled at finding the blond's silver eyes locked on him, his fingers tightening around his fork. The growl that trembled in his throat went unheard by the group seated around him, the excited chatter covering the quiet sound.
"Harry," Hermione murmured, her tone thick with disapproval.
Not feeling any particular need to defend himself, Harry simply lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. Technically, it wasn't his fault he'd skipped Potions and Divinations. Nope, the blame for that infraction could be laid solely on the head of the wolf. Since the moment he'd opened his eyes this morning, the animal had been at the front of his mind, growling and snapping like a wounded animal. Of course, the reason for its agitated state was as clear as the little full moon in the corner of his agenda. And frankly, he was starting to get a headache from its maddened baying.
"I think a nap's in order," Harry decided aloud, ignoring the look Hermione attempted to pin him with. He slung a leg over the bench and rose, waiting for the witch to join him before strolling toward the double doors. As they went to part ways in the hallway, Hermione's hand locked around his forearm, impeding the escape he was about to make. "What? I'm tired and I have a long night ahead of me," he said in a whisper, turning to face the witch.
At the hissed explanation, Hermione paled, her finger's loosening enough to allow the wizard to pull his arm free. She darted a quick look around before leaning into Harry, all censure having vanished at the reminder of what he was going to have to endure that night. "Are you okay?"
"Bit of a headache, but fine other than that," the dark-haired wizard said. He smiled and gave the witch a reassuring pat on the arm. "I'll catch up with you later." With a farewell flick of his fingers, he fled, heading for the safety of his room.
Ten minutes later he was sprawled across the comfortable sofa before the little fireplace in his new quarters, surveying the room with pursed lips. Done in a soothing shade of nutmeg brown, the suite consisted of a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small living area. It was also blissfully quiet. With a wide yawn, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying inhaling air free of the cloying scents usually present in the Gryffindor Common Room. Here, there was no sickly sweet perfume to burn his nostrils. Nor was there any hint of aftershave applied so heavily he could taste it upon his tongue. Slumping into a more comfortable position, he tucked an arm behind his head and settled in for an afternoon nap.
Several hours later he cracked an eye open and stared groggily at the ceiling. He flinched when the little clock hanging on the wall began to chirp, the mellow dongs counting off the hours that had passed while he slept. Absently, he counted each bong, his eyes widening when the last hollow tone filled the small chamber. His gaze darted anxiously to the window, his body tensing at the purple and pink stripes highlighting the slowly darkening sky. Swallowing, he swung his feet to the ground and stood, glancing at the clock to confirm the time before striding quickly toward the door.
The moon would be full soon, perhaps not within this hour, but definitely within the next. He had just enough time to check in with Hermione before he'd have to report to Snape, a thought that had snitches winging around his growling stomach. Jogging through the corridors, he made his way up to the Gryffindor Common Room, ignoring the handful of students he encountered en route.
He felt only a moment's confusion when he stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room and found Hermione absent, the chair she usually occupied empty. Brow furrowing, he ambled further into the chamber, his gaze sweeping over the scarlet couches and walnut desks in search of the witch. Finally, after accepting the fact she wasn't in the spacious room, he strode to the bottom of the stairs that led to the girls' dormitories and called her name.
Just as he was opening his mouth to repeat his cry, Lavender Brown appeared at the top of the stairs in a swish of purple bathrobe, her eyes narrowed and her hair in curlers. Planting a hand on her hip, the witch glowered down at him, her lips pressed tightly together. "She's gone to the library," she informed him briskly, giving him one last glare before whirling around and vanishing from sight.
Unable to keep from shaking his head in disgust, Harry turned on his heel and left the Gryffindor dorms, nearly hitting Dean in the face with the Fat Lady's portrait as he exited. He ignored the wizard's outraged yelp in favour of jogging down the stairs before they changed position, slowing only when he reached the landing at the bottom. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolled lazily toward the library, ignoring the handful of students who crossed his path.
At six o'clock on a Friday night, the library was practically deserted, which by all rights it should have been. Only the diehards would willingly spend their free time cooped up in the library surrounded by books, especially on a night when there were so many other things they could be doing. To Harry, spending a free night in the library was something akin to a nightmare, but if that's where Hermione was, that's where he'd be.
After spooking a pair of third year Hufflepuffs snogging in a corner and a snoozing Ravenclaw, Harry finally stumbled across Hermione. The witch was seated upon the floor surrounded by open books, a Quick Quotes Quill hovering at her shoulder dutifully recording everything she said. Resting his hip against a nearby desk, he quietly observed the witch, smiling at her enthusiasm as her attention leapt from book to book, her fingers nimbly turning pages and running over dainty script. When she straightened and raised a hand to rub the back of her neck, he shifted, the movement drawing the witch's focus from her studies.
"Harry," she said excitedly, waving him forward with a wiggle of her fingers, "Come see what I found." Practically bouncing up and down where she sat, she quickly shoved a pile of unopened books aside, clearing a spot for the wizard to sit next to her.
Trying to appear just as excited as she was, and undoubtedly failing, the raven-haired wizard walked to where she sat and dropped liquidly to his haunches. His brows lifted as he scanned the titles of the texts, very unsurprised to find all of them somehow relating to werewolves or other such creatures. "Keeping busy, 'Mione?" He asked teasingly, lifting one of the unopened books from the pile and idly paging through it.
Face reddening, Hermione shrugged her shoulders and snatched the book from Harry's hands, placing it carefully back in the stack of books she hadn't yet read. "Something like that," she murmured, returning her attention to the tomes spread before her. Her brow furrowed as her gaze shifted from book to book, finally, with a sigh, she reached for the notepad floating above her shoulder. After quickly flipping through several pages filled with small notes, she halted, and then dragged one of the larger books into her lap. "I found something I think you'll find very interesting," the witch mumbled, her eyes locked on the numbers in the corners of the pages as she searched for a certain paragraph.
Arching a brow, Harry leaned back on his hands, his expression turning doubtful. "If you think so," he said, unable to keep from sounding disbelieving. He gave an apologetic lift of his shoulders at the glare the witch shot him, his eyes absently sweeping the corner of the library they inhabited.
"Here," Hermione said, directing his attention to a lengthy paragraph with the tip of her finger. Not bothering to wait for him to begin reading the section by himself, she began to read aloud, "The mating of two werewolves will, most commonly, result in the birth of offspring which are abnormally powerful and possess traits not generally found in Bitten werewolves. Offspring of such a mating are considered 'Pureblooded' by the werewolf community and held in the highest regard. One of the unusual powers found in Pureblood werewolves is the ability to infect individuals while still in human form. However, the product of such a union is extremely rare due to a lack of sufficient breeding partners in the werewolf population. In the few recorded instances, individuals bitten by a Pureblood werewolf are stronger than the average werewolf, having greater speed, stamina, and sometimes, the unique ability to control the Change."
Harry stared at Hermione blankly. "And?" He said after a moment's hesitation, wondering silently what the witch was getting at.
"Don't you get it, Harry?" Hermione said in a frustrated hiss. "That boy wasn't bitten, he was bred. If Voldemort wanted you infected, he could have sent any werewolf out to infect you. Instead, he sent a little boy who might just be the first Pureblood werewolf in two centuries out to do the job. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"
"Do you realize you just accused Voldemort of having a five-year plan?" Harry asked in return. Before the witch could refute him, he shook his head and raised a hand, halting any further argument. "At this point, Hermione, I'm not even sure Voldemort's behind this. It all seems a little to . . . thought out."
"This isn't just some random occurrence!" Hermione snapped, defending what she considered a credible argument. "That boy was sent to Hogsmeade specifically to infect you."
"Don't you think I've realized that?" Harry said angrily. He snatched the book out of her lap and closed it with an echoing thud, ignoring her murmur of protest as he tossed it lightly beyond her reach. "What's done is done, Hermione. I'm a werewolf. There's nothing you or I or anyone can do about it. No amount of research is going to save me. Just let it be, please," he finished in a soft plea, the words hitting home harder than he would have imagined possible.
Seeing his obvious distress, Hermione gave a reluctant nod, her fingers knotting together as she stared at the books laying open before her. "Are you scared?" She asked in a whisper, beginning to flip the nearest books closed. Her hands shook slightly as she worked to stack the tomes into a reasonably organized pile, chancing a glance at the raven-haired wizard out of the corner of her eye as she moved.
"Terrified," Harry admitted on a sigh. He straightened the pile of books beside him, not daring to glance at the witch. "But Remus promised me he'd be there."
Hermione brightened at that bit of good news. "That's wonderful, Harry," she said in a rush, "At least you won't be alone. I was thinking about researching the Animagus charm, just in case-"
Harry reached out and caught Hermione's hand, shaking his head as soon as he had the witch's complete attention. "No, 'Mione. I don't want you getting hurt because of me. You're my friend - my only friend - and I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. If you became infected . . ."
Appearing unconvinced, Hermione frowned, her hands stilling on the books she was straightening. "I suppose you're right," she replied slowly, noting the flash of relief that crossed the dark-haired wizard's face before he managed to hide it. "When are you going down to see Snape?" She asked, deciding a change of subject was needed.
"I should probably head down now," Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding like he'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail wandless and in nothing but his boxers. He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the books beside him, lining the spines up perfectly.
With a sigh, Hermione grabbed up her papers and shoved them into her book bag. "I'll walk down with you," she offered, swinging the bag up onto her shoulder before gathering an armful of texts and standing. She watched as Harry followed her example, tipping her head when he rose and leading him toward the shelves she had selected most of the books from. Her lips curved when he offered no protest, his silence telling her he would welcome the escort. They left the library and walked in silence down the corridor, heading in the direction of the dungeon stairwell.
"You'll be all right?" Harry asked, glancing at Hermione who paced along beside him.
With a soft laugh, Hermione nodded her head. "I'll be fine, Harry. I can survive without you for three days. Besides, I plan on going shopping in Hogsmeade with Luna and Ginny tomorrow afternoon," she said, doing her best to reassure the raven-haired wizard. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, noting that he'd grown sightly more agitated since leaving the Gryffindor dorms. Frowning, the witch slowed, her attention on the dark stairwell that led down into the bowels of Hogwarts. At the first stair she stopped, turning to face Harry, her gaze assessing. "Will you be okay?"
Swallowing, Harry nodded, his hands curling into fists. "Remus promised he'd be there," he murmured, more to remind himself than the witch. In his head, the wolf howled eagerly, its presence growing. Attempting to ignore the beast slowly wrapping itself around his mind, he drew a deep breath and began to descend into the dungeons, pausing only once to glance back to where Hermione stood. He forced a smile at her tentative wave, his nails biting into the stone of the banister. "I'll see you later, Hermione."
"Bye, Harry," Hermione called, her hand falling as the dark-haired wizard disappeared into the heavy shadows below. She stood there for several seconds, staring into the darkness before glancing nervously about her and then swinging around, heading quickly back to the safety of Gryffindor Tower.
Walking slowly along the main dungeon corridor, Harry drew a deep breath and tried to calm himself, failing miserably. He didn't want to do this. Merlin, he didn't even want to think about doing this. Almost against his will, his strides shortened, his body breaking out in a cold sweat as fear swamped him. He didn't want to turn into a mindless animal that murdered mercilessly.
Drawing another deep breath, he unclenched his fingers and forced his rebelling body to continue on. He had to do this. With a firm nod, he lifted his chin and squared his jaw; he would do this. Halting before the door of Snape's office, he lifted a fist and gave a sharp rap, waiting patiently for the Potions Master to allow him entrance. His senses seemed to sharpen as he stood in the shadows of the dungeon, his ears picking up the soft whispers seeping through the wood of Snape's door.
Frowning, he tipped his head, trying to determine the identities of the individuals who belonged to the vaguely familiar voices. Unfortunately, the door was opened before his ears could process the murmurs, his eyes widening at the sight of Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt flanking Severus Snape.
Trap, the wolf imprisoned in his head snarled.
Harry hesitated at the angered declaration, his body tensing even as his weight shifted in preparation for flight. He stayed frozen in the doorway, his gaze leaping nervously from one wizard to the next. Within his mind, the wolf began to analyze, attempting to determine the quickest route from the castle and the simplest method of preventing the three men from following.
Death, it breathed counter seconds later, curling Harry's hands into claws and baring his blunt teeth in a fierce growl.
"Seems he's an early turner," Moody observed from the left of Snape, the tip of his wand held level with Harry's sternum. His magic eye rolled around inside its socket, peering upwards toward the night sky hidden by the walls of Hogwarts.
"Hmm," Snape agreed from behind the relatively safe width of his desk. He spared an idle glance at the clock hanging on the far wall, one dark brow lifting slightly; the moon wasn't due to rise for another forty minutes. Sighing, he closed the book that he'd been studying and rose, gesturing Shacklebolt and Moody toward Potter. "Let's get on with it, I have marking to do," he said, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieving the vial that rested atop a pile of parchment.
Seeing the pair move purposefully toward him, Harry took a step backwards, shooting an anxious glance over his shoulder as he shifted. His moment of inattention cost him, allowing the pair of burly Order members to grab him, halting his retreat. "Let go," he snapped, ignoring the panicky tremble in his voice. He tried to pull away from Moody, jerking roughly against the Auror's hold on his shoulder.
"Calm down, Potter," Shacklebolt ordered, tightening his grip on Harry's arm. The strength he was exerting to hold the younger wizard in place was obvious by the expression on his face, his features strained as the dark-haired wizard jerked against his grip.
Inside his skull, the wolf screamed betrayal. It fought ruthlessly against Harry's hold on their shared body, demanding the wizard allow it its freedom. Because only it, the wolf breathed, could deal true justice. It would feel no grief or anguish over the deaths of the three wizards, only a sense of deserved rightness for their treachery. The wizard's sought to trap them, and that pissed the wolf off. Harry was unwilling to admit he shared the wolf's sentiments.
"Where's Remus?" The dark-haired wizard growled, narrowing his emerald orbs at Snape's approach. His gaze dropped to the vial the Potions Master held, his efforts to escape growing decidedly more desperate. He tugged away from Shacklebolt and then planted an elbow in the wizard's side when he was forced to take a step to regain his balance, slamming him against the dungeon wall.
The wolf sensed freedom and added its considerable strength to Harry's, giving him the power to slip the groaning Auror's grasp. Before either Harry or the wolf had a chance to react, a hand grabbed their chin and forced their mouth open, allowing Snape to dump the contents of the vial down their throat. Coughing at the foul taste, Harry scowled up at the wizard, his eyes blazing with a feral light. "Where is Remus?" He spat, the question emerging as a drawn out rumble.
Easily interpreting the sound, Snape smiled and slipped the empty vial into his pocket. "Lupin had important business to take care of that took him from the country. He sends his most sincere regrets and apologies, I'm sure." Turning his dark eyes to Shacklebolt, he watched with an arched brow as the Auror hauled himself slowly to his feet. He gave a disgusted shake of his head at the Order member's pained grimace, his gaze returning to Harry. "Need I remind you of your promise to Dumbledore, Potter? One more stupid stunt like that and you'll spend the rest of your school year collared and caged. Now, if you're quite finished with your juvenile tantrum, follow me." Shooting a warning glance at Moody, Snape swept from his office and glided down the shadowed hallway, not bothering to make sure the strange trio were following.
Teeth clenched, Harry allowed himself to be half-carried half-dragged down the corridor, his attention focused on pacifying the angered wolf residing within him. If they hadn't been occupying the same body, its threats probably would have caused him to wet his pants and cry for his mummy. Fortunately, they were bound together tighter than a wand and its core. He was jerked from his thoughts by Snape's unhappy mumbles; the Potions Master having stopped before a door made to resemble the stone wall to either side of it.
"And this, Potter, will be your home for the next three days and nights," Snape announced, pushing the door open and entering the small room. He waved his wand at the sconce on the wall, lighting the candle sitting in the bracket. The faint glow it produced allowed him to observe the perfectly empty space, because that's all it was: an empty space. Narrow, with not a single piece of furniture or ornamentation save the candle holder, the chamber was exactly what it appeared: a cell. A temporary cage that could withstand the strength and anger of a fully turned werewolf.
Harry stared around the chamber with mounting dread, the room reminding him too much of one he'd once occupied a very long time ago. His eyes widened when Shacklebolt gave him an unfriendly push forward, sending him stumbling into the cell. He whirled around in time to watch the door close behind Snape, the clank of the bolt ringing in his ears. A scraping sound heralded the opening of a small hatch near the top of the door, Snape's nearly black eyes the only part of his face visible through the narrow slot.
"The house elves shall see you're given everything you need," the Potions Master calmly informed the younger male. He stared at the raven-haired wizard a moment longer before sliding the hatch closed and departing, leaving Harry completely alone in a forgotten part of the dungeons.
Unable to believe what had just happened, Harry reached for the wolf, and found the spot it generally inhabited curiously empty. It was . . . gone. The sensation was strange, as was the silence in his mind. There were no growled threats or keen observations. There wasn't even a ripple of secondary thought. He wasn't given a chance to contemplate the meaning of the wolf's disappearance, a sudden spasm in his stomach causing him to double over and retch.
Fire flared within his veins. His muscles burned and his jaw ached, the sickening crack of bones filling his ears. He opened his mouth around a scream of agony, the shriek emerging as a pained wail. His knees gave out, spilling him to the floor where he curled into a ball, feeling like his intestines were being ripped from his belly. He was unable to hold back the high-pitched whimper of pain that crawled from his throat, the sound stabbing at his ringing ears. Every inch of his body burned, the sensation causing him to writhe helplessly upon the cold stones of the dungeon floor. Through the mind-numbing pain, he realized this was it - the change. In seconds, he would be a werewolf.
And then it was over, the wash of pain ending as quickly as it had begun, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath on the floor. He opened his eyes slowly and stared at the cell wall, the subtle ache in his muscles the only reminder of the agony he'd just endured. Tentatively, he flexed his fingers, the movement feeling strangely alien. Drawing a deep breath, he lowered his gaze, his eyes widening at the sight of the massive paw he now bore in place of a hand.
Excitement and curiousity shot through him, the emotions urging him to his feet in a rush of adrenaline. He awkwardly scrambled to his feet, nearly landing on his nose in his rush to stand. Finally, after carefully planting all four paws, he stood, albeit shakily. Tipping his head, he glanced back over his shoulder, studying the body he now inhabited. Much to his pleasure, the form he had taken was that of an actual wolf, and not that of the gaunt creature he had once watched Remus transform into.
Thick fur the colour of pitch covered him from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, shielding him from the cool air that whistled through the crack beneath the door. He took a cautious step forward, and then another, growing accustomed to the feeling of having four feet. Soon, he was pacing liquidly back and forth, his body nearly humming with restrained energy and power. He wagged his tail and cocked his ears, delighting in each new sensation.
In the wolf's body, his already heightened senses were even stronger. He could hear each thump of his heart, hear the blood pushing through his veins. He could even hear the house elves in the kitchen arguing over tomorrow's menu. The wind whistling under the cell door tickled his nose, bringing him the smell of musty air and damp stone and stale water. And his eyes could easily discern every crack in the mortar of the walls that contained him - in the dark.
The novelty, however, wore off quickly.
The cell that he occupied was no bigger than a broom closet. There was no room to stretch his legs, no room to run or play; he could only walk six short strides forward before encountering the door. In a bid to escape, he dug almost desperately at the stone portal, his nails leaving shallow gouges in the heavy brick. Disheartened, he threw back his head and howled. The sad wail did nothing but sting his sensitive ears. Tail drooping, he flopped to the floor and curled into a ball, nearly undone by the fact that he had three nights of this lonely existence to get through.
With nothing better to do, he thought. He thought a lot. To be precise, he had exactly three full nights and two whole days in which to think. The only time his thinking was interrupted was when one of the house elves brought him food, and that interruption generally lasted no longer than the length of time it took him to swallow the vial of Wolfsbane Potion he was ordered to drink.
By the end of the third night, Harry had come to the sad conclusion that one more night of silent loneliness could kill him. Perhaps, if Remus had of been there with him, it wouldn't have been so bad. But he'd been left alone, forced to endure a solitude neither man nor wolf was designed to endure. Merlin help him, because he couldn't live like this. Like a caged rat . . . or an abandoned dog at the pound - unwanted. As that thought slid through his mind, his gut clenched and his blood began to boil, his three nights of isolation drawing to an end.
Huddled against the damp stone of the dungeon wall, Harry shivered, goosebumps rising along the pale flesh of his arms. The unwavering darkness pressed in on him, no longer held at bay by the quivering light of the candle dancing in the candelabra. He drew his legs tighter against his chest, his chin resting on his upraised knees. His closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the musty air. The echoing sound of approaching footfalls opened his eyes, turning his face toward the cell door. A bright light became visible through the rectangular window in the stone panel, narrowing his eyes. With a resounding clank, the bolt slid aside and the door creaked open.
Chin lifting, he stared blankly at the individual standing in the doorway, the bright light produced by their wand nearly blinding him. He rose unsteadily to his feet and limped forward, reaching out to take the offered cloak while keeping his eyes averted from the brilliant glow. His fingers shook as he wrapped the woolen folds around his body, carefully fastening the row of buttons before slowly lifting his gaze. Staring straight into Remus' weary amber eyes, he whispered, "You promised." Without another word, he gathered the heavy folds closer to his body and slipped from the dungeons, his words ringing in the empty chamber.
Arms wrapped around his waist, Harry stood in the owlery, watching the sunrise over the Forbidden Forest. He was only vaguely aware of the birds occupying the cubbyholes lining the walls, his attention focused more inwards than outwards. It seemed his decision had been made for him. Days ago, he wouldn't have believed it would ever turn out this way. That Dumbledore would allow him to be confined to a closet in the dungeons. That Severus Snape would pour a potion down his unwilling throat, drowning any protest he sought to make. Or that Remus Lupin, despite the communication problems they had recently had, would . . . abandon him.
Breathing out heavily, he turned away from the sunrise, swiping a mitten over his cheeks to rid them of tears. "Hedwig," he called softly, ignoring the quaver in his voice as he searched the shadowed alcoves for the owl's snowy plumage. A soft hoot turned his head, his eyes alighting on the bird as she floated down to land gently on his proffered arm. Smiling sadly, he carried her toward the nearest window, running a light hand absently over her feathers. With his free hand, he withdrew the small piece of parchment he'd crammed into his pocket earlier, holding it aloft before Hedwig.
"This needs to go to Fenrir Greyback," he whispered, the words seeming nothing more than an innocent exhalation. In a flash, the owl seized the square of parchment and leapt into the air, rocketing higher into the sky with every dip of her wings. Harry watched her departure through unblinking eyes, his fingers wrapped around the stone lip of the windowsill. It was done. The thought was almost enough to drop him to his knees, out of sheer relief or heart-rending sadness, he didn't know. Head falling, he closed his eyes and hoped he'd made the right decision.
A/n: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review. It all begins in the next chapter . . .